Just a Kiss in the Moonlight
by 23Sammy
Summary: "He wrapped his arms around her again, forgetting fatigue and exhaustion and pulled her close. The kiss they shared was slow and sweet and this time no one was telling them to stop. So they didn't. For a while." Dreams, hope, love, rest, cool-aid, plastic flamingos, the ocean and the full moon. In short: The "Blue Bird"-tag I've never meant to write. Multi-chapter.
1. Bubble of Normality

_**A/N:** So. Months after "Blue Bird" aired and despite frequent assurances — mostly to my completely stressed out self — why I wouldn't write a tag, I'm finding myself in the middle of one anyway. Even though it is probably pointless, because by now everyone probably wrote everything there is on the subject. But I just need to get this out of my system, after it had been sitting in my head for well over 2 months, before I can start a new stand-alone multi-chapter and/or the last of the "Dreaming"-series. It's turning into a quite lengthy tag, but I hope you might still enjoy reading this, despite it being a rather quiet story on a familiar topic._

* * *

Teresa Lisbon closed her eyes at the warm and tingling sensation, that his gentle fingers kept brushing with lazy, soft strokes across her skin. He slid his fingertips slowly along her jaw and down into the hollow of her neck, where he let them linger for a while — stroking, caressing, teasing, without haste, without doubt — before venturing out further, brushing over sensitive, previously unexplored skin, and, just for a moment, running his fingers boldly along and under the hem of her camisole, before tracing a new, safer path along her collar-bone up to her shoulder and to the side of her neck. After his movements stilled, she pressed her cheek into the palm of his hand with a soft sigh and rubbed her nose gently over his fingers. When cool air replaced the warmth of his skin on her cheek, she opened her eyes again to the sight of a soft smile and a gaze full of astonishment, love, gratefulness and peace mixed with a couple of unshed tears. He was lying on his side, close to her, watching her, his hand now tucked in between the pillow and his face. Not willing to accept the loss of his touch yet, she reached across the tiny sea of crumpled bed sheets between them and tapped her index-finger against his wrist. The smile on his face widened, while he freed his hand again from under his head and laced his fingers through hers. Then he whispered.

"I love you."

She suddenly lost sight of his loving gaze, when he slipped out of focus, his face, his eyes, his whole body melting into a hazy, shapeless form, swimming in front of her eyes in a blur. She felt her throat tighten in familiar panic and fear, twisted her upper body away from him, eyes frantically searching for the window, but the whole room was nothing more than a misty blur all of a sudden. She tried harder, even though the last thing she wanted to look at, the last thing she wanted to see, was the window and the threat of a soft glimmer of light beyond it.

_It can't be morning yet. Not yet, please, not yet._

A hand reached through her panic, curled around her shoulder and pulled her with careful pressure back to her side and into a warm embrace. She blinked and at once his face came back into focus. Her cheeks felt suddenly wet, then a soft, warm touch whisked the sensation away.

"It's not morning yet, is it?", she asked, blinking a few more tears away.

He raised his eyebrows in something that looked like surprise and replied.

"Not for a very long while."

His reassuring words drifted away and the room fell silent again. From somewhere outside, an unfamiliar white noise washed against the window, but it was too faint and too far away for her to identify its origin. Not that it mattered. Nothing mattered, as long as the world was still a dream and a half away and - at least for now - only belonged to them.

After a while, he pressed a kiss to her forehead and whispered into her ear: "But even if it were, no one is forcing us to leave this bed… well, at least not before Friday at 11am."

She closed her eyes and pushed her face into his neck with a sigh, then rolled out of his embrace and onto her back. She wanted to believe him. So badly. But she knew he was wrong. They were close to the dawn. And when it came, it would tear them apart again and all of this would be nothing more than the memory of a dream. A feeling of loss washed over her and made her turn back towards him. She saw him shrug, then a bright white light blinded her and she reached out to him in fear, trying to touch him, to hold on to him, but all her fingers caught was cool and silky fabric. The white noise grew louder, crashing against her head like waves on a beach, washing his last words away out into the sea of dreams.

_"At least I think that's the check-out time…"_

And that was when Teresa Lisbon woke up and stumbled onto the shore of reality and into a world that was endless white.

And apparently filled with overweight and clearly pissed off blue sea-gulls wearing sailors' hats.

She blinked.

The white world turned into more than slightly crumpled bed sheets and a pillow.

Which was a relief.

Realising that the fat, angry sea-gulls were not part of her imagination, but actually scattered all across the fabric of the pillow, was not.

It was, in fact, more than a little creepy.

She blinked again.

She hadn't noticed the emotionally disturbed wildlife before. Maybe, because she'd been far too tired at the time and had something much more important to look at, something that, aside from being the only thing she wanted to look at for the rest of her life, had been located on top of the pillow — hence preventing her from seeing the hideous things in the first place. Something that was clearly gone now.

Or rather: Someone.

She frowned, released the bed sheets from her iron grip and raised her head a little, still too sleepy and sluggish to sit up straight. Instinct, logic and experience turned her eyes into the direction of the bathroom. But there was no spill of light coming out from under the door. The room beyond was dark.

"…Jane?"

It came out as nothing more than a whisper and she wished she could take it back, because that little quiver in her voice, that slight hesitation at the beginning, made her realise, she was not just asking him where he was, but somehow asking herself if he had actually been here at all.

She shut her eyes, too scared to follow that thought, afraid that by digging into the hazy memories of the last three days, she might find that the haziness was not a result of fatigue, but that all of it had just been part of her dream.

She dug her fingers back into the sheets, holding on, as another thought struck.

_Oh god._

She realised she knew someone, who'd find pillow-cases with kitschy angry sea-gulls on them hilarious enough to buy and use them.

And it wasn't Patrick Jane.

She took a deep breath to calm herself down, but it had the opposite effect. The air carried a faint smell of salt, which would have reminded her of the sea, if it hadn't been mixed with a touch of lavender and a whiff of something citrusy, that in combination with the salty scent triggered a different memory.

That of a man's cologne she had become very familiar with over the past few weeks. A pang of loss shot through her, a searing hot pain, that burnt her heart and left her mouth dry and an aftertaste of ashes at the back of her throat. She swallowed hard.

_It had been a dream._  
_Just another dream._  
_No. No. NO._

With something between a groan and a whimper, she rolled to her right and onto her stomach, before letting her head drop down into the pillow, thereby splitting the flock of offended sea-birds in half. Confusion, guilt and disappointment rose hot and painful up from her stomach into her throat like bile.

She pushed her face deeper into the fabric.

The pillow was still a little warm.  
And it didn't smell of lavender. Or citrus. Or salt.  
Instead she caught a hint of tea and sunscreen and…

_Jane. The pillow smells like Jane._

She raised her arms in a gesture that was a mixture between relief and annoyance and let them crash into the bed again, the resulting thumping sound masking the big sigh of relief that escaped her lips.

_It wasn't a dream. It was a memory_, she thought a little stunned, while breathing in his scent and rubbing her cheek across the warm spot on the pillow.

She sat up and, taking in her surroundings, identified the misleading scents not as the artificial ingredients of the cologne Marcus used to wear, but very real parts of a strange flower arrangement and an overflowing fruit basket on the dressing table on the other side of the room. So the salty smell did belong to the ocean.

The Atlantic Ocean.

Which was right past the two big open bay doors, only a few steps away from the bed.

The hotel bed.

_Their_ hotel bed.

Finally her brain managed to throw back the blanket of hazy, heavy confusion deep sleep had previously spread over her and suddenly everything was back in its place.

Well, except for Jane.

"Jane?" she called again, noting with some satisfaction that this time it translated into: "Where the hell have you wandered off to in the middle of the night?"

And which was, at least for the time being, the only important question that needed answering.

**~~~ 10 hours, 4 cups of tea, 3 cups of coffee, a shower and 3 blueberry muffins earlier ~~~  
**

Jane's hand caught the breaking wave with ease. He ran a thumb over it from deep trough to rising crest, while tilting his head a little and narrowing his eyes. He pushed the wave down experimentally, let go of it and waited for it to rise again. It did so with a tiny happy squeaky sound.

The sound Lisbon made, while he was occupied with inspecting the black metal door handle, was neither tiny nor happy. And he wouldn't have described it as squeaky either.

It was, though, he thought with an accompanying grin, a very familiar and reassuring sound and he wouldn't mind listening to it all day.

But then again, he wouldn't mind just listening to her _breathe_ all day. In fact, as far as he was concerned, any kind of Lisbon-noise was fine, because it meant she was still there. Not that he had been worried she might vanish into thin air the moment he turned his back on her to open the door, because that would be quite stupid.

He closed his eyes, tried to count to ten.

Well, ok, not _that_ worried anyway.

At five he opened his eyes again and turned around to look at her.

Just to be safe.

Her head was titled to the side, one eyebrow raised at him with clear impatience, her arms crossed in front of her chest, her bag sitting next to her on the floor. The familiar Get-a-move-on-Jane-frown on her face melted into a very new, but much more welcome, soft and warm smile. When he lifted his eyes to look into hers, he felt the corners of his mouth curve up into a similar expression.

Well, probably not quite similar, because he suspected he was by now grinning like an idiot again. Not that he cared. He drank in her smile, her face, her eyes and the happiness he saw flowing fast into every fibre of her, once their gazes had locked again.

He felt his knees starting to get weak and even though the beautiful, kind, amazing woman in front of him could certainly claim credit for that particular reaction, so could fatigue, insomnia and general exhaustion. He needed to get some rest. Both of them did.

To prevent them from falling once more into a blissfully silly emotional paralysis, he cleared his throat and responded to her earlier noise of impatience with a shrug and lopsided grin.

"Sorry, force of habit. I see a nice door with a nice lock, I just have to get a good look at it."

The new loving smile rolled into an old amused one, while she uncrossed her arms, placed her hands on her hips and shifted her balance a little to the left.

"So you haven't found something else to complain about then?"

Jane leaned his back against the door and stroked his chin.

He had done a lot of complaining ever since Abbott had shown up to get him out of the TSA-dungeon at the airport. Abbott hadn't minded either, but actually seemed to enjoy this whole thing rather a lot. Jane had watched him from the other side of the window, talking to the TSA-guy. Abbott had kept a stern and serious expression on his face, the clear amusement at a complaint the man made with wild gestures directed at Jane and Lisbon, only visible in a tiny twitch of his left shoulder. After a while, Abbott had finally turned to Jane and raised his eyebrows. Jane had given him a shrug and a lopsided grin. Lisbon had hidden behind Jane's back, blushing furiously.

He'd caught her hand in his then and the world had stood still.

And then the door had opened and Jane, with an exasperated sigh that carried the words "Finally! You took your time…", started complaining — and caused Abbott's left shoulder to twitch again.

Not that Jane had anything to complain about, really, he'd only done so in order to create a bubble of old and familiar normality around them, that allowed Lisbon and him to execute necessary tasks like leaving the airport and getting a cab and a room, instead of staying in the TSA-jail and grinning at each other like idiots for all eternity. So far, it had worked rather well.

He pushed himself off the door again and shook his head.

"No. Nothing. And I'm not saying this place isn't nice, all I am saying is, there was no need to shift us halfway across town and downgrade us from four stars to two", Jane said with a sigh, then, frowning at the pink plastic star-fish-key-ring no. 508 in his left hand, added.

"Or three, if you count this one."

Lisbon picked up her bag again, while Jane turned back to the door and pushed the key into the lock. The door it was attached to, was made of dark wood and painted a deep blue. A row of swirly waves flowed gently across it, before they crashed on the shore of the wooden door frame and then continued on the other side of it as white delicate lines on a light blue wallpaper, rolling silently down the corridor towards the reception area of the hotel.

"I'm sure it's nice, it's just a bit too… maritime for my taste", Jane said with a sigh, frowning at the pink star-fish again. "I bet they picked this hotel on purpose."

Lisbon gave a small snort.

"Of course they did. The FBI figured someone with your refined taste would be terrified of sea-shell-lamps and plastic dolphins. So instead of just finding us _any_ place to stay until the TSA gives in and lets you back on a plane, they probably spent _hours_ last night trying to find a hotel like this, because booking you into Sea World would be the perfect punishment for messing with the federal government", Lisbon said sweetly. Jane turned back towards her, face screwed up in playful indignation.

"First of all, I wasn't messing with the federal government. I was closing a case for the federal government _and_ put my life in danger while doing so, so in fact, I don't deserve punishment, I deserve a medal…"

He turned back towards the key in the lock.

"… or a 500-dollar-high-end-hotel-suite with 24 hour room-service for a week."

Lisbon's bag dropped back to the floor with a surprised thud.

"You closed the case? The plan actually worked?", she asked in disbelief.

"Yes."

"Who? When? How?"

"The two women. A while after you left. I'll tell you later. And second of all, all I'm saying is that I don't see why they checked us out of _our_ hotel, only to book us into _this_ one. Waste of time and resources."

"Probably because they thought, we wouldn't need it anymore, as I was going to DC and you were going to jail", Lisbon said, picking up her bag again. "So why did they kill her and how?"

"Could we discuss sensitive subjects like doing prison time and people killing people _inside_ the small and kitschy but probably still very nice hotel-room instead out here in the corridor?"

Lisbon couldn't suppress a small yawn any longer. She stretched her back and said.

"Fine. But I really don't care if it's small and kitschy, as long as it has a decent bed."

Jane chuckled and turned the key in the lock. Behind him, Lisbon blushed furiously once more and rolled her eyes at him.

It was a heavy door and a heavy door-handle. Which was good, Jane thought. Once closed, it would keep the world and all the crazy and scary things it contained at bay for a few hours. Keep them outside this room. Jane was confident, the door would also be up to the job of keeping certain things _inside_ the room as well. He gave the wood a small knock and grinned. Just as he thought. Pretty sound-proof.

When he pushed the door open, Lisbon walked past him into the room, her shoulder brushing his arm gently, her fingers stroking the back of his hand in passing. He deflected the urge to catch her hand with his and pull her against him by grabbing the door-handle tighter and pulling the door back towards the lock.

Just then it occurred to him that a) he just missed a perfectly fine opportunity to steal a quick kiss and b) that he must be seriously sleep-deprived if his brain hadn't adjusted yet to the fact that deflecting things was no longer necessary.

The door closed with a slow soft thud and a silent click. When it did, it shut the world and everyone else in it out for good.

They were finally, at last, alone.

They stood there, in the silence of the late morning, facing each other, Jane in the gentle, cosy shadows by the door, Lisbon engulfed in sunlight streaming in through the bay doors behind her.

Neither said anything. Neither moved. For a long while.

Then Jane finally looked down, clearing his throat.

"So.. uh… what now?"

_Heavens, wasn't he the epitome of elegance and confidence today._

He couldn't help but rolling his eyes, slightly annoyed with himself. Lisbon laughed and moved towards him. Three small steps later she was so close, he'd only have to lift his arms a little to touch her.

She beat him to it.

The sudden feeling of the warm, soft skin of her hands and arms sliding over and around his uncomfortable clammy neck, made his knees go weak again and this time it was entirely her fault.

When he shifted his weight a bit to find his balance again, his ankle protested with a jolt of pain.

Which he didn't really notice.

Because the world — outside and inside the room — had shrunk to the eternal green of her eyes, looking into his, looking more alive and happy and at peace than they had on any given day during the last few months. Her smile was wide and soft and the only shadows in her face where a result from being awake for far too long.

Marvelling at the sight, he wondered for a moment what she saw on his own face.

Whatever it was, she evidently liked it, because the fingers on the nape of his neck started to softly explore the skin in the immediate vicinity, before finally pushing gently into his hair. He closed his eyes, the rush of emotion triggered by the simple touch so intense, he was afraid he'd make an embarrassing whimpering sound at any moment.

Which he didn't.

He did, though, finally manage to make his own body move and wrap his arms around her waist.

And then, with something that might have been a whimper after all, he leaned down and pushed his face into her neck and pulled her close, arms tightening around her, like he never wanted to let go again. After what could have been seconds or hours, Lisbon pushed him back with a laugh.

"Shower."

He blinked at her in slight confusion, having lost all sense of… everything, except for her warm body pressed against his, her arms wound tight around his neck, her nose pushing playfully into his chest and the small sigh that, now in retrospect, had signalled the impending end of their embrace.

"What?"

"That's what's next. For you. You need a shower and I need to make a call."

He frowned at her. Not because she'd told him he smelled bad, she definitely had a point there.

"You sure?"

For a moment the joy in her eyes dimmed and she cast her gaze down.

"I can't delay this… I need to do this now."

He nodded.

She looked small and lost all of a sudden, shoulders slumped down, head held low. With the sun in her back, sad shadows crept into her pale face.

"Teresa…" he called softly, but she wouldn't meet his eyes, instead turned her head, so her gaze was flickering across the room, from the bay doors and the ocean beyond to the bed, over the inevitable sea-shell-lamp on the bedside table, the dressing table on the other side of the room, the ceiling with its painted white fluffy clouds and finally down to the wooden floor, her feet and her discarded bag, where her gaze stopped. Eyes still, her hands started twitching, not sure if she wanted to retrieve her phone from the bag, stuff her hands safely into the pockets of her jeans, let them just stay still at her sides or move them back over his skin.

Knowing the answer and seeing her struggle with rising guilt because of it, he said her name again. When she didn't reply, he reached out for her and started moving.

Or rather: Tried to.

Because shifting weight was one thing.  
Taking a big step, something entirely different.

Before he could fall flat on his face, Lisbon had caught him, her fingers now curling determinately around his elbows to steady him. After a while, she released her grip and let her fingers trail in a slow and steady motion down his arms to his wrists. This time he did catch her hands with his and squeezed them with gentle reassurance.

When he noticed the sudden spark of happiness returning to her eyes, and how her hands were now resting still and content in his own, he leaned in closer. He closed his eyes, the fear of her vanishing and all the other things he was afraid of, welling up inside of him for just as long as it took his lips to find hers. Then all there was, was the tingling feeling of her hands in his hair and the soft pressure of her lips against his. He wrapped his arms around her again, her warmth covering his cold and fatigued body like a blanket. The kiss they shared was slow and sweet and this time no one was telling them to stop.

So they didn't.  
For a while.

He was kissing her tenderly, slowly, savouring every second of their tongues dancing to a slow tune, hands brushing ever so softly over fabric and skin, lips moving in a gentle rhythm. Losing all sense of time or place or memory or purpose, he felt a warm tingling in his solar plexus, like something rising from a long, dark sleep, uncurling, unfolding inside of him with a brightness and a warmth and a force so strong, it would have taken his breath away — if the woman who was kissing him hadn't done that already.

When they broke apart, Jane leaned his forehead against Lisbon's, eyes closed tightly against the morning and the world, breathing deeply in and out, trying to hold on to this strange feeling of warmth and life inside of him. Then, through a wall of fatigue and exhaustion and the thundering of his own heartbeat, he whispered in a small, hoarse gasp:

"Thanks for saving me."

Gentle hands wiped away tears he hadn't even realised he'd shed. He opened his eyes to the sight of equally unexpected tears shimmering brightly in Lisbon's eyes. When she took his face in her hands, brushing her thumbs lightly over his cheeks and smiled at him, her voice almost breaking with emotion, he knew she'd caught his meaning.

"Anytime. Always."

He grinned at her. "Can I hold you to that, next time Cho's considering punching me for snatching the last muffin from the break-room?" He shuddered at the thought. "Hungry Cho is one of the most scary things I've ever come across."

She blinked back the tears with a sobbing laugh that was wrapped around a term of endearment that sounded suspiciously like "idiot" to him. Then she put her hands on his chest and gave him a small, gentle shove.

"Now go. And when you're out of the shower, you'll let me take a look at that ankle."

"You don't have to. It's fine."

"I do. And it's not", she said, giving him a stern look. When she passed him, she brushed against his side, her fingers curling back around his just for a moment. She pressed a soft kiss to his shoulder and then she was out of the door. Jane just stared at the space where she'd been. Then he limped towards the bathroom, leaving a trail of clothes, stained and sweaty from clinging to him for what had felt like a week, behind him.

* * *

**_Next up: A shower-scene. What else. ;-)_**


	2. Dignified Hobble

_**A/N:** Thank you so much for the reviews and favs :) As promised here is the next chapter of what, for better or worse is now becoming a full-sized multi-chapter after all. Screw the insane work-load, I'm doing to do this properly. yolo. I regret nothing ;-)))  
_

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In the end it took Jane almost a minute to turn on the water, exhaustion, pain and hunger making his hands shake in protest, while the muscles in his arms didn't even bother with expressing any kind of discomfort and instead simply refused to work at all. Now the warm water was slowly washing the worst of the fatigue away, buying him another few minutes of consciousness. He leaned against the wall, closing his eyes, just letting the water stream down over his skin, hoping to breathe a little extra energy into his tired body. After a short while, a muffled thumping sound interrupting the soothing melody of the rushing water, told him Lisbon had returned. She was roaming around, the sound of light footsteps moving forwards and backwards across the room accompanied by some rustling and shoving and mumbling. After a while, the footsteps and the rustling and mumbling seized and there was silence. Jane rubbed a hand over his face to get the water out of his eyes, then stood still and just listened.

What followed next was a long stressful minute, in which he tried to convince himself about a dozen times that it was neither necessary nor physically possible for him to jump out of the shower and burst back into the room to check if she hadn't vanished after all. Just when he decided on a compromise — exiting the shower now in an orderly fashion and taking the time to actually grab a towel before re-emerging from the bathroom with what he hoped would be a dignified hobble, shampoo-free hair and a relaxed casual smile — he noticed a shadow had parted the small stretch of sunlight, that was visible under the door. Upon closer inspection, which was proceeded by another attempt to wipe away a fresh batch of water from his eyes, he saw there was slightly more pressure on the hinges than before and just a few inches above the handle, the door seemed to lean a little heavier into the frame than at the top or the bottom. Which meant someone was pressing a hand or an ear against it from outside. He grinned.

So it wasn't just him and therefore probably not quite as silly as he'd thought.  
Which was kind of reassuring.

Though it was just as likely they were both being silly.  
Which was somehow even more reassuring.

"No need to worry, I haven't been washed out to sea yet!", he called out to Lisbon, putting a loud, happy boom in his voice and grinned, when a hectic scrambling noise made the door chuckle lightly in its frame and the shadow on the floor fled in hasty retreat.

"But feel free to check for yourself", he added, hoping that if a) her conversation with Pike had gone ok-ish, she might actually take him up on it or if b) the call had gone badly she might get mad at him, which would distract her from her distress. Or maybe she hadn't even managed to talk to Pike yet, in which case b) also applied.

The shadow returned. As did the pressure to the door. Jane held his breath, suddenly nervous, very aware of himself, of the cold tiles under his feet, the pulsing pain radiating in waves up his leg from his swollen ankle, the cooling water running down his spine and the fact that he had actually no idea, no idea at all, what to do or to say if she went for option A. Despite that, he suddenly heard his own voice singing through the sound of the running water.

"I promise, I smell better already!"

So maybe some part of him did have an idea what to do after all.

The pressure on the door intensified. For a second Jane even thought he could hear her breathe slow and heavy on the other side of the door, but then realised the sound was coming from him. The door pressed a little further into the frame, and Jane held his breath again, when the door-handle shivered ever so slightly, but then as suddenly as the motion had started, it came to a halt with a final shudder. The pressure was gone. The shadow wasn't. Jane tensed.

"Lisbon?"

He flinched at the less than subtle squeak in his voice, which he later would insist, was only the result of the shower choosing that precise moment to declare with a happy, bubbly burp that it had run out of hot water and adding with an equally happy sneeze that it was contemplating a career-change to become a fridge.

The clearly audible question-mark in his voice made her open her mouth. The realisation that is came at the end of what was a very hyped up, very nervous, somehow a little startled kind of squeak, made her shut it again without replying.

Her lips curved upwards into a grin.

So it wasn't just her needing to check every five minutes that this wasn't a dream or an insomnia-induced hallucination.

They were on the same page. In the same book.  
Or both delusional.  
Which was a valid option.

She had, in fact, felt a little insane standing in front of a bathroom door like that, her hand pushing against it, just so she was half an inch closer to him, her ear pressing against the wood, just so she could try to hear him move. Or breathe. To reassure herself he was still there. It was ridiculous. He was just on the other side of the _door_ and the water was not going to wash away his feelings for her or his memory of the previous events or the whole infuriating, amazing man himself.

The man who'd told her he loved her.

The intensity of the thought had pushed her forehead against the door and she had stayed there with her eyes closed, suddenly feeling just a little teary and light-headed. And then the man who'd told her he loved her, had thought this was the perfect moment to make her almost jump out of her skin and give her a heart-attack.

And then he had squeaked.

She felt the sudden urge to wind him up for making her jump and gave into it with a feeling of amusement and lightness and without a second thought. Which she somehow hadn't done in a long time. A very long time. She grinned. It felt good.

"Are you ok? You sound scared."

"Fine. Nothing."

"Really? Did you find a spider in there or something? Because that was one very scared, very _girly_ squeak."

There was a very upset, still a little squeaky, snorting protesting sound coming from the other side of the door, telling her she had succeeded.

Either that or Jane had suddenly morphed into a sea-lion.

Lisbon called back: "Just so we're clear, "anytime and always" does not cover rescuing you from wildlife and I don't care if there's a cockroach the size of a poodle in there, we're staying here for the night."

"I take it you've found the bed to your satisfaction then?", he called back, his voice still a little high, but steadier than before.

She crossed over to the bed and sat down with a sigh, letting herself fall back onto the mattress, before quickly sitting up again, when she felt her eye-lids close against her will.

"Perfectly decent. Unlike you."

She took in the sight of his clothes, all scattered on the floor in a clear trail leading from the bed to the bathroom. She still wasn't sure how to process that, after two years of being apart and months of practically being strangers and all the other things before that, she was suddenly staring at his discarded shirt on the floor.

She also wasn't sure if she was looking at a trail of breadcrumbs for her to follow, a piece of conceptional art ("Sometimes I'm just a normal guy, you know") or just a failed I-can-clean-it-up-before-she-gets-back-plan.

She picked up the shirt, ran her fingers gently over the soft fabric and smiled. Jane's shirt in her hands. Just like that. Jane on the other side of that door, not _wearing_ a shirt. Also just like that. She shook her head.

"I probably should have asked, if you're house-trained before I let you trick the concierge into exchanging two single rooms for a double."

He made another disapproving sound, then called: "I have to say, I was surprised that you let me. I expected you to blush and make at least some kind of small indignant protest on professional and/or moral grounds."

She blushed now and whisked his trousers off the floor, trying not to think about the embarrassment it would cause, if Abbott or anyone else ever found out about it. And/or realised she hadn't even raised an eyebrow, let alone her voice to protest against his plan, because she had been too busy trying to cope with the excited warm, tingling feeling in her stomach whilst at the same time stifling a yawn.

Maybe she could plead temporary amnesia due to extreme exhaustion.

Or the fifth.

"Would it have made any difference if I had?", she asked.

A resolute, amused "No" came from the other side of the door and Lisbon smiled at the conviction that single word carried into the room. Then she looked up in mild alarm at the strange, distressed silence following in its wake. The silence was broken again a few seconds later by his voice, which was quiet and rough now, nothing more than a distant quiver behind a wall of water and wood.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean… was I?…was it?… I mean, would you have wanted me not…?"

Her eyes went wide.

"No!"

She crossed the room and put her hand up against the bathroom door to stop his train of thought, realising it had led him straight to earlier and very different words exchanged through a very different closed door.

"No", she repeated quietly.

"I'm glad we're here."

The sound of running water seized and all was silent. Then she thought she felt something from the other side press against the spot where her hand still rested. When he spoke again, it was in nothing more than a whisper, and so close that she realised he was standing on the other side of the door, mirroring her.

"So am I. So very glad."

She rested her head against the door, somehow knowing that on the other side of it, Jane did the same.

"Me, too", she whispered back and then decided that, even though it might be in a way easier, she was done with having this conversation, any conversation, really, with a dead tree between them. Even if he was in there and all his clothes were out here and… all that implied.

She was about to let her hand move down across the wood towards the door-handle, when her phone started ringing. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath and slid her hand down across the painted wood, past the handle, until she came to the end of her reach and had no choice but to let it fall from the white surface in order to lift it up again so she could reach for the phone in her back-pocket.

"Hi. Thanks for calling me back. No… Listen… No, I'm fine, but I'm still here and… I… I have to talk to you."

Her voice moved away and Jane was left with the sound of a door falling shut. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the door. The shampoo in his hair started to itch on his scalp, but he ignored it. He tried to push through the fog that surrounded his thoughts, feeling helpless and insecure and impatient at not being able to change their new fragile raw emotional state into something solid and eternal and — in the best sense of the word: predictable —right this very second, before something, anything, could go wrong, that he wasn't able to predict. And avoid. Or at least fix afterwards.

He bumped his forehead against the door in slow frustration. Once. Twice. The third soft thud breaking the uneasy silence was followed by long sigh of resignation and another not quite so soft thud as his fist joined his forehead on the door.

Finally deciding that he was not willing to give in to fear, he limped back to the shower and out of the silence, glad when it was replaced once more with the rush of the cold water from the shower and somewhere, far off, like an echo, the sound of waves crashing on the shore. After letting another cascade of liquid cold tumbling down on him for a while, Jane finally raised his hands experimentally to check if he was back in control, spreading his fingers under the water, blinking into the spray. They were steady again. Time to move. In every sense of the word.

Well, not in _every sense_, because a few minutes later he had to admit there was no way to accomplish anything that even closely resembled a dignified hobble without causing further damage to his ankle.

Which meant he was quite glad, Lisbon wasn't here to see him struggle rather comically with such simple tasks as "putting on your trousers" and "walking over to the bed" and "getting quickly back up from the bed before falling asleep".

His mind was foggy with exhaustion, so he looked around the room, trying to find something interesting to occupy it with, before it shut down completely.

Lisbon seemed to cope much better with being up for more than 24 hours than he did. Which — given that he was a pro when it came to insomnia, erratic sleeping patterns and combating the effects of both — might have bruised his ego quite a bit under different circumstances. But given that he hadn't slept for _a_ _lot_ more than 24 hours and had in general not gotten more than three hours of fretful tossing and turning a night since he found out she was leaving, he was actually quite proud that he was still semi-conscious at this point.

The odds of him suddenly dropping snoring and drooling flat onto the table while leaning over to kiss her for the first time had been frighteningly high.

He smiled at the memory, remembering how her face had felt under his finger-tips, how her fingers had stroked his cheek, how she had parted her lips even for that first slow, short kiss and kissed him back without hesitation as soon as his lips had brushed against hers. How when he had opened his eyes, that wide and bright and happy smile had spread over her face and when he had lowered his hand to the table to steady himself, her small hand had covered his in a motion so confident, easy and light, as if she had touched him like that a thousand times before. When he had looked into her eyes, the flutter of emotions in his stomach and heart and soul had reached the top of the butterfly-scale. His brain, with impeccable timing as always, had chosen this moment to remind him that a group of butterflies was called a kaleidoscope. Which was quite fitting, he'd thought.

Then her thumb had brushed in a slow stroke over his wrist and he had stopped thinking altogether.

Time had stood still.

Until the TSA-guy had grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and dumped him unceremoniously back onto his chair. For which Jane, fighting with a body in emotional and physical meltdown, had actually been grateful at the time. It made him even forgive the man for the rather rude bark of "Stay" he had bellowed at Jane.

The thought of the annoying TSA guy with all his forms for him to sign and all his silent disapproval for him to ignore, led him somehow to Pike.

Jane didn't want to know how his brain had made that particular connection, but somehow it seemed to finally spark it back into action.

If Pike had returned Lisbon's call just now, that meant she had not talked to him before, so what had she been doing earlier, while he was in the shower?

He scanned the room thoroughly, starting by the door and the plastic-flamingo-umbrella-stand next to it. On the white wall opposite the bed hung a classic red and white life-safer encompassing a mirror. Between that and a porthole-clock, various wooden grey and blue fish swam up the wall towards the ceiling, clearly trying their best to escape from the home decor overload on the dressing-table beneath them. Jane noted a spiky flower arrangement, that — judging by the presence of wooden clown-fish on a small white spike — was probably meant to represent a coral reef, a small treasure chest, a plastic octopus that held various pens in its tentacles, a stack of triangular post-it-notes, protruding like sails from a wooden boat and an overflowing fruit basket in the shape of a seashell. Jane's gaze passed the small white and blue striped arm-chair in the corner, went briefly over the two big bay doors ablaze with bright white sunlight, swept over the bed — rather decent, he had to admit she was right about that — and, completely blocking out the two round steering-wheel-bedside tables with the inevitable sea-shell-lamps complete with dolphin shaped stands, stumbled towards a small table next to the bathroom door, which held — _oh dear god_ — an electric kettle that looked like a lighthouse and the telephone in the shape of a speed boat.

Dropping his exhausted eyes to the floor, his gaze finally found his delightfully plain overnight bag. And his neatly folded clothes and various other items sitting on top of it. He almost choked on a sudden wave of emotion that started welling up from deep inside of him.

He had told her his ankle was fine. But judging by the heap of bandages, cool-aid, painkillers and ointments he was looking at, she apparently still expected his injury to be on a scale that made amputation seem like a valid option.

She was looking out for him. She cared.

He looked down at his swollen ankle, that was already busy changing its colour from an angry dark red to a pulsing purple and blue.

Of course Lisbon had _always_ cared, was probably the only person in the world who not only wanted him to be alright, but was deeply upset when he wasn't. And even though he'd always known that, it only now dawned on him how hard it must have been for her, seeing him being careless with his body, his health, his life and not being allowed — both by circumstances and himself — to do much about it, except for tossing him the occasional Aspirin and shouting abuse at him.

Until now.

He stared at the small pharmacy in front of him. Then back at his ankle. Then he hopped towards the electric lighthouse kettle and the ocean racer phone, making sure his injured foot stayed well and save off the ground.

* * *

_**Next time: Tea, coffee and one hell of a decent bed…**_


	3. Like waiting for the bus

**A/N:** Thank you so much for the reviews and favs and follows. It means so much, more than I can ever say. As for this chapter: It was difficult to write, but I hope I got it right in the end and that you like it :-).

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She walked slowly down the empty corridor, choosing her steps as carefully as her words, drifting along with the waves on the wallpaper through the half-lit passage, until the last word was spoken and she washed up with a final step and a "I'm so sorry for all of this, Marcus" at the reception area of the hotel. She blinked in irritation, not at the stunned silence at the other end of the line, but at the sudden explosion of noise in front of her.

"Teresa, I… don't know what to say, I…"

When an excited toddler, who was for no apparent reason hugging the base of a huge plastic palm tree, started howling in protest at his mother's attempts to remove him from the plant, Lisbon momentarily lost his voice. She stopped. Stood in the middle of the room, between people coming and going, between suitcases and bags, in a hurricane of ringing phones, the clatter of shoes and scratching of suitcase-wheels on tiles, laughs, giggles, greetings and the occasional howls of the kid. It was tempting. Staying here. Simply letting his voice drown in a sea of noise. All she had to do was to mumble "I'm sorry" every couple of minutes, until he hung up and that was that. But it wouldn't be right. And it would also give her a headache. So she pushed herself on.

"Sorry, I didn't get that. Just give me a moment, it's too noisy in here, I'm going outside."

He asked where "here" was, while she was making her way to the main doors. Her reply was lost in a high-pitched scream, indicating the mother had finally managed to separate palm and pest. Then the automatic doors sealed the noise off and Lisbon was outside in the small forecourt. Alone. With the sound of the ocean. A soft breeze. The bright morning sun. And the words Marcus was hurling at her across six states and more than 1000 miles. While he spoke, she turned around to protect her eyes from the sun and suddenly caught sight of her own reflection in the glass doors.

"I know. I know. And I'm sorry. Truly I am. But this is… I never expected… I mean, if I'd thought even for a moment that… "

Her voice wavering now, like her reflection, ghosting in and out of existence, pale, flat, without substance. A little like herself right now. Well, this _was_ herself right now, wasn't it? That person staring back at her from tired eyes, her face riddled with guilt-stained shadows, ebbing and flowing in and out of her features like the tide. That person standing on the pavement, one hand shaking so badly she was afraid she'd drop the phone, the other still, unmoving, clutching a small golden cross, knuckles white with strain. What was that woman holding on to? Integrity? Honesty? Morality? Innocence? Well it was a bit late for all of that, wasn't it? She closed her eyes for a moment, so she didn't have to face herself while facing the truth.

She remembered how in anger she had accused Jane of thinking of her as nothing more than a convenience. Now she suddenly found herself on the other side of her own words. And while in Jane's case they turned out to be wrong, she was pretty sure that this time, the verdict would be unanimous. Guilty as charged. Marcus had been a convenience for her and she'd used him. Maybe she hadn't meant to and maybe he hadn't minded, but that didn't matter. She'd used him and now she was dumping him. Simple as that. Horrible as that. Inevitable as that.

The soft breeze picked up speed, carrying with it the heat of the fast approaching noon. When it reached Lisbon, it slapped a blanket of fire across her face — and an equally hot wave of anger directed at the man, who was by now probably fast asleep in room 508.

Jane had gotten her into this mess. If he'd just said or done something, anything, no matter how small, then maybe she wouldn't have let it go this far in the first place. But he hadn't. And she had. Her head started to hurt. God, she was tired. She rubbed the bridge of her nose for a moment and let out a small sigh. The doors opened. Her reflection flickered and then it was gone.

"Look, Marcus, you said it yourself… that… that… uh… you just know when something feels real… and this… this is…"

The doors closed. She was back in the glass. Pale. Ghostly. Featureless. Transparent. She stared at the ghost of Teresa Lisbon, at the guilt and shame, climbing in hot red angry splotches up her neck and spreading into her cheeks like a rash. This was by far not her first — or even her worst — breakup. You could fall in and out of love without meaning to. That was life. Marcus knew that. He'd been married before, hadn't he? But what he hadn't known was, that she'd led him on. And that was a concept so shameful, so painful for the person she'd always been, that she couldn't even hold her own gaze across the glass anymore. She looked away.

"This is kind of like that. Me and Jane, I mean…"

She cringed at her hollow words as her stomach turned into a painful knot. She'd told Marcus it had felt real between _them_. Everything that came after those words — from taking the job in DC to the proposal and ultimately to her standing here staring at her own guilt-ridden face — was a result of this one moment in time. That moment, when she'd lied. And she had lied to him. Hadn't she? She tried to recall that evening in detail, that conversation, tried to recall him sitting across the table from her, telling her this was the real thing for him, tried to remember what she'd felt.

She found she could not.  
She tried again.  
What was it he'd said when she'd agreed to come with him?

_An excited forward movement on a mattress. A hand so close to hers, she'd only had to move an inch to touch it. The smell of tea and leather. Tousled hair. A smile on an unshaved face, she'd missed for so long._

_"It'll be fun. Lets see what kind of trouble we can make."_

Wrong memory.

She tried again. Pike. Across the table from her. Dinner. Darkness outside. Candlelight inside. Them having a conversation about… lying?

_A sunny morning. Outside. The smell of coffee and tea and the river beyond. Her voice. "He made risotto." Him leaning forward, shirt-sleeves rolled up, vest neatly buttoned up, eyes searching her face. "Now this is insulting, are you going to continue lying to me?" And then the soft murmur of laughter and conversation and the sound of gulls circling over the river suddenly silenced with one look. One deep, long, serious, concerned look, boring into her soul, pushing, wanting, needing her to let him in. Needing her to trust him. And telling her with that look, that no matter how this was going to end, he'd be there. She could still feel that gaze on her, even though it had almost been a decade since then._

She frowned at her reflection in the door. What had she tried to remember again? The voice in her ear reminded her. Things being real. Pike. Dinner. Table. She tried once more. Got ice-cream and pizza and stacks of files and tea-cups and red and yellow dinosaurs and at the end of a long line of memories of the same man across a number of different tables, there was that last, fresh one and it was so powerful she almost dropped the phone.

The man in her memories had not been Marcus Pike. So she gave up on trying to remember the conversation with Pike in detail. Gave up on trying to remember any conversation across any table with him. Because as much as she tried, all she got were transparent images, flat, featureless, fleeting, like her own reflection. It was nothing compared to the vivid memories passing in front of her eyes, so close she only needed to reach out to touch them, so real that…

The lights inside the reception area went out. A light in Teresa Lisbon's head went on. When she started talking again, her voice was steady.

"Marcus, the truth is: This is as real as it gets. And I am sorry. I wasn't lying to you. I wasn't trying to lead you on. I thought what we had, was real for me, too. In a way. But that was maybe because I never had anything… more real… to compare it to."

She closed her eyes. Listened. Then answered in a very quiet, but very steady voice.

"Yes. I do now."

When she opened her eyes again, she saw her reflection get deeper, clearer, stronger now that the light behind the glass was gone. A few shadows of guilt were still there, though. For the benefit of her own conscience, heart and soul, she decided to face all the harsh words he had reserved for her and her horrible behaviour. She would take them as they came, not trying to deflect them, not trying to argue with him, just let him tell her what a horrible person she'd been. She deserved it.

She looked at her reflection with determination, trying to hide that small hint of fear that still lingered in her heart, imagining the things he was about to say, before listening, without taking her eyes off herself, to the words he actually did say, before he hung up.

Her hand let go of the cross and fell to her hip.

Her reflection stared at her. Then it raised a surprised eyebrow at her. Then it blinked. Then the shadows of guilt receded, retreated in panic at the arrival of a deep, dark frown. Her reflection blinked again in surprise. She blinked back.

"What the hell… was that?"

Her reflection just stared back at her, without giving her an answer.

"Bloody bastard", they both finally said after a while.

At the other end of the hotel Jane heaved his body up onto the bed with a loud sigh. He propped himself carefully up on his elbows, knowing that if his head even so much as touched a wing or a beak on the sea-gull-infested pillow, he'd be lost. And falling asleep was still unacceptable at the moment for various reasons. He needed to be awake when she came back. Also for various reasons. Even though she had shrugged it off earlier and tried to put on a brave face, he knew she'd feel guilty as hell about Pike, and since most of this mess had — on reflection — been his fault from beginning to end, he needed to make this right for her. Or at least a little easier.

The door opened a few moments later and he raised his head to look at her, trying to assess her level of discomfort.

Then he frowned.

He had expected her to look distressed, maybe a little sad and more than a little guilty. But the expression on her face was a curious and rather comical mixture between confusion, irritation and indignation. In short: It was a pout. And one that was adorable beyond words.

He blinked that last thought out of the way, but made a mental note to come back to it later. It was the kind of mental note that included an exclamation mark and words that were underlined twice.

"How did it go?", Jane asked gently.

She walked briskly into the middle of the room without looking at him, then stopped and stared a little bewildered at her reflection in the life-saver-mirror for a moment, before shaking her head.

"I… uh… better than expected, actually."

When she finally looked at him, Jane gave her a reassuring smile and padded the mattress next to him. She walked over to his side of the bed with stiff, wide steps, her body clearly on autopilot while her mind needed all its capacity trying to process something rather big. Being a woman, her autopilot automatically included the advanced function of kicking off shoes, before climbing gracefully on beds. It had taken him years to master that skill. Kicking off shoes on autopilot, that was. As far as the other skill went, he was happy he made it onto the bed at all. He tried to shift and make more room for her —gracefully of course —, when she swung her legs up, but she simply climbed over him to the other side and, leaning her back against the headboard, drew her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs. He kept quiet, just looked up at her. She bit her lower lip.

"Is it…?"

She started in a very high voice, then shook her head again.

"Never mind. He's ok with it. It's ok."

Jane frowned up at her, clearly not convinced.

"I don't think it is. What did he say?"

Her frown beat his by a mile. It worried him.

"Teresa?"

It was the soft tone in his voice, that new quiet, almost shy rough whisper she'd never heard before today, that finally made her blink and look down at him. Her frown and all it carried with it, dissolved into a smile. Her hands had felt cold and stiff before, but now she could feel life return into her fingers. The tight knot in her stomach gave way, releasing a warm and tingling sensation, that spread up towards her heart and made it beat just a little faster. Because he was here. This was real.

There he was, lying next to her on the bed, looking up at her with eyes bright and curious, his intense gaze completely fixed on her, searching her face carefully for any sign of pain or distress, clearly determined to take both away. When he noticed her attention had shifted back to him and that she had started to relax, a soft, wide, loving smile was spreading over his face, pushing years of pain and worry and despair away and leaving a man at her side who looked younger and more at peace than she'd ever seen him.

She unlocked her hands then, the urge to run her fingers through his still slightly wet and tousled hair now clearly stronger than the instinct to protect herself from questions she didn't want to answer.

But without meaning to — judging by the small sigh that escaped his lips and the way his eyes closed, when she ran her fingers through his hair — she had apparently found the perfect defence against probing questions and gazes alike.

When she stretched out her legs, he shifted, until his head was comfortably resting on her thigh. She kept stroking his hair, running her fingers down behind his ear to his neck and up again towards his temple and his forehead. After a moment, eyes still closed in blissful contentment, he mumbled.

"So. What did he say?"

He moved his head a little higher up on her thigh. She put her free hand on his shoulder, fingers slowly starting to retrace the pattern on his shirt.

"It's not important."

"Yes it it. You're upset about it."

"I'm not."

Her fingers were back behind his ear.

"Hmm..mm"

She smiled. That was a good place to linger for a while, as it seemed that what she was doing, kept him from forming coherent sentences. She leaned down a little and whispered.

"I am really not."

"Liar."

The word was nothing more than a slur now and she could feel him drifting away in her arms. She kept stroking his hair, watching his face, as his expression grew softer still, the lines on his face slowly disappearing a little more with every breath. She started blinking back tears, as she watched the strain and need to keep control of every facial muscle, every twitch or frown just fade away from him, until all that was left was a soft smile on his lips.

She brushed a curl from his forehead and trailed her fingers softly over his temples and cheeks down to his jaw, trying to memorise every detail of this moment with all her senses. After a decade of watching him hide behind a mask, it was now the third time in one day, that Patrick Jane was coming undone right in front of her eyes.

It was a little like public transport, she thought with a dry smile: You wait twelve years for a bus and then three come along at once.

He moved onto his side now, shifting closer, higher up, until he could drape an arm across her lap and rest his fingers gently on her waist. His breathing was becoming slower, softer and she kept still, except for her fingers, that were running gently in soothing lines back and forth through his hair.

Three times in a day. The first time, on the plane, it had been out of fear and despair. The second time, across a table in a locked room, it had been out of hope and longing. The third time now, in this bed, in her arms, it was out of love and trust.

Fresh tears were welling up in her eyes at seeing him like this. Open. Free. At peace. Completely undone.

Which, she had noticed before, included his shirt, that he had neither bothered to button up or tug into his trousers.

She slid a hand down his neck, letting her fingers drift towards the warm skin, that was usually hidden under the fabric.

She remembered how she always wondered what it would feel like to touch the man beneath all those layers of carefully buttoned up clothing. She'd always thought that his suits had really been suits of armour, protecting him, with the vests covering his broken und vulnerable heart like a breastplate. So that no one could touch it. Hurt it. Ever again. Sometimes, in moment of great joy or great distress, the jacket had come off, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbows. But the vest had stayed on. The few instances where the vest had been open or gone, had mostly been down to various health care professionals needing urgent access to his chest.

His chest. His heart. Which was now only a brush of her fingers away, neither protected by shirt or vest or any kind of armour. It was mind-blowing. It was also the result of something that had started the day she'd laid eyes on him again. And something, that, now in retrospect, she realised she had failed to notice at the time. A sign. Small. Almost insignificant. But a sign.

She remembered now that when she had first seen him again, not only had the vest gone, but those first two buttons on the new shirt had been undone. She had thought nothing of it at the time, being distracted by her own joy and the radiant smile on his face. Just as she had been distracted by her annoyance at being dragged halfway across the country the next time they met — and failed to notice that only one button remained open. When they started working together again, the shirt was back to being buttoned up perfectly. She wondered if he would have started wearing the vests again, had she really left. Somehow she thought she knew the answer. And it pained her. So she went back to earlier today, when, on the plane, the words had burst out of him and she'd noticed how his clothes had been a mess, with his shirt not tugged tidily into his trousers, but one end sticking out. Somehow she had still expected, feared really, that by the time it all sank in, he would take a step back again and put at least one protective layer back between them, even if was just clothing. But he hadn't. His shirt was as open as his searching gaze had been earlier. She'd only have to reach a little lower to lay a hand above his unprotected heart.

"So?" he suddenly quipped.

She laughed and drew her hand back, his voice startling her. She had been convinced he had fallen asleep. She should have known better.

"So what?"

Her rolled his eyes without opening them. Gave an exasperated huff. She leaned down and pressed a long, soft kiss and a smile into his curls.

"You do smell a lot better", she whispered into his hair, without lifting her head.

"Oh please, are you seriously trying to distract me with sexual advances and flattery? What. Did. He. Say?"

He felt her smile, the side of her face still pressed into his hair, her hands brushing over his shoulders and up towards his neck. Then they suddenly stopped and she lifted her head. He turned his, which meant his face was now in her hands. He opened his eyes, blinking up at her.

She sniffed the air, looking a lot like a hunting dog, that had caught a scent.

"Is that coffee?"

Jane raised his eyebrows at her.

"Yes it is, but asking a second question won't help you avoid answering the first one."

She raised her head completely now, trying to figure out where the scent was coming from.

"First, you tell me where the coffee is."

"First,_ you_ tell me what he said."

She opened her mouth, then closed it again, when her eyes caught up with her nose.

"Oh wow. This is heaven" she blurted out, staring at the dressing-table and the assorted range of breakfast food, tea and coffee that had appeared on it during her absence.

Jane grinned and shook his head between her hands.

"Nah, just room-service… I thought..."

A second later his head bounced into and back off the mattress in a surprised thud. By the time he had managed to sit up again, her hands were already cradling the coffee-cup instead of his face...

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_**Next part, as promised, later tonight. Or tomorrow at the latest :-)**_


	4. As real as it gets

**A/N:** As promised. The next bit. Which is about food, first aid, a life-plan gone wrong and apologies. And in which I can finally get rid of Pike for good, so we can get to the good stuff ;-))

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"Food. In the end it's always about food", Jane growled and rolled off the bed.

Lisbon's light laughter drifted over to him from the other side of the room.

"Oh, look who's talking. You're the one who is _constantly_ eating, even in the face of dead people. Literally."

He sat up on the edge of the bed and looked down at what had, until a few hours ago, been his ankle and was now a big purple and green ball, that looked like a freshly shaved sea-urchin. Before he could reach a probing hand into the deep sea beyond the shore of the bed, his line of sight was suddenly blocked by the rim of a tea-cup. He looked up. Lisbon looked down at his ankle, then up at him and pressed the cup into his hands. Then she made a motion with her head and raised an eyebrow, ordering him to stay off the floor and hop back onto the bed. Which he did without protest.

He kept that reserved for her earlier words.

"For your information, I'm not constantly eating. If I were, I wouldn't be able to stand up anymore, let alone climb fences."

"I rest my case", she said nodding towards his ankle with a sweet smile, while he took a sip from his tea. He put down the cup with an indignant, protesting snort.

Lisbon grinned and turned her back on him, concentrating on filling two plates with much needed nourishment.

"I've always wondered: Where does all the food go anyway?" she asked.

He leaned his back against the headboard of the bed, watching her over the steam of his tea-cup. Lovely soft focus. No. Lovely. Full stop. He grinned.

"Fast metabolism. My brain needs a lot of fuel to keep working at full power all the time."

"Does it now?"

She handed him a plate, then went back for her own plate and cup and, balancing both with a deep frown of concentration on her face, climbed back on the bed, until she was back in her previous spot next to him. He waited until she had settled down, then replied.

"The energy you spend tackling criminals and doing your Tea-Box…"

"Tai Bo. And I haven't done that in over six years."

"Why?"

He took a bite from his blueberry muffin and waved a hand.

"Ah, don't say it. Let me guess: Because punching me is much more satisfying than punching air."

She leaned over with a sigh and a sweet smile.

"Ah, you know me so well…"

A shadow flickered across his face and she wanted to wipe it away, shoo it off, kill it, before it could take hold, knowing where it came from and where it would lead. It was a road she did not want to go down right now. No more shadows. Not today. Not now. It would keep until tomorrow. Or the day after. He seemed to feel the same way, because he took another big bite from his muffin, swallowed both the food and the dark thoughts and grinned.

"What I meant was: The calories you burn with sports and games, I burn using my brain. Same result, much less effort."

She laughed. "So no physical exercise necessary?"

He shook his head with a smug grin. "No."

She put down her plate and cup on the bedside table, before turning back towards him with a shrug.

"Shame."

He raised a curious eyebrow at her. She stretched her arms towards the ceiling with a yawn, feeling something in her spine slide back into place with a soft pop.

"I just thought of something we could do together, but if physical exercise isn't necessary…"

Out of nowhere there was an arm around her waist, pulling her down onto the bed and into a warm, tight embrace. She fell into him without resistance and grabbed the lapels of his shirt with a laugh, that turned into a sigh, the moment his lips brushed against the side of her neck. She closed her eyes, when the moment didn't end and his lips just stayed there, until he finally whispered.

"I said I don't _need_ it, I never said, I didn't _like_ it."

She let go of his shirt and ran a hand under the fabric across his warm skin up to his shoulder and back. He closed his eyes and pushed his face deeper into her neck. She smiled.

"So for strictly recreational purposes…"

He smiled back against her skin. "Not at all opposed to the thought."

He pressed another soft kiss to her neck and then he was suddenly gone. She opened her eyes in confusion, already missing his warmth, his touch, his lips and his breath against her skin. How could she miss all that after the first five seconds of actually experiencing it for the first time? She blinked. He was leaning against the headboard again, as if nothing had happened, plate back in hand, the last piece of the muffin on its way to his mouth.

"But in order to burn calories, you should probably first get a few of them together."

"Sounds like a plan."

They ate in silence for a while, sitting next to each other, their shoulders touching. At one point, Lisbon had thrown a leg over his, for no other reason than because she could.

She kept looking at their tangled up limps from time to time. How natural, how domestic it already felt. Even after a few hours. But then again, that seemed to be her new thing. Going from exciting romance to domestic normality in 5 seconds. The thought — induced by tiredness and the fact that now all that remained of her energy was probably used for digesting breakfast — was wrong. She knew that. At least when it came to her and Jane. But it lead her back to someone else. She tried to wipe the thought away with the paper napkin in her hand.

"You still haven't told me", Jane said into the silence, jumping on her train of thought. She sighed. Put napkin and empty plate away. And shook her head.

"Will you let it go, please?"

"I would, but your face won't."

When she turned towards him, he was screwing up his nose, putting a deep frown between narrowed eyes, in imitation of her own expression. She glared at him.

"_IF_ a look like that is on my face right now, it's because _YOU_ are annoying", she said, crossing her arms in front of her chest. He grinned, mirroring that gesture as well.

"No it's not me. If it is me, there's always a smile lurking behind the frown, ready to appear."

"That's not the preparation for a smile, that is me getting ready to bare my teeth, so I can snap at you."

Lisbon slid off the bed and started rummaging around between the bags on the floor. He raised his head a little to get a better look. When he didn't reply to her previous insult, she stopped for a second.

"You' re not staring at my butt, are you?"

"No", he lied.

Her arched up back dropped down for a moment and there was a long, tired sigh from somewhere below.

"Look, Jane, it doesn't matter what he said, I dealt with it. Forget it."

Oh, he was happy to forget it. _ALL_ of it. In fact, he was determined to swipe Marcus Pike out of his memory palace along with all the other dust and dirt during the next spring cleaning. But now there was something that still bothered her and it wasn't what he had expected it to be. He shook his head, tried a different tactic.

"Ok, don't tell me what he said. Tell me what _you_ said."

She moved the pharmacy from the basement to the first floor. Then her head reappeared between two rolls of bandages. He pointed at his ankle.

"I told you, it's fine."

She huffed. "Yeah. The skin colour looks particularly healthy."

"Just leave it, Teresa."

He drew his foot back. He knew it was basically blackmail and far from fair, but he was getting desperate, the short energy-rush the food had provided running out fast and the numbing fog of approaching sleep dulling his senses. In short: He was simply running out of brain power to plot anything more elaborate than this.

She growled at him.

"Fine. How about: You let me fix your foot and I let you in on what he said."

He grinned. Crude, but effective. Worked like a charm.

"Deal", he said.

She raised an eyebrow and pointed a finger at him.

"And don't you think I don't know what you did there, Mister. I'm simply giving in, because I am getting too tired to argue about this."

He gave her his innocent look. "What did I do?"

Before she could reply, he added with a curious frown: "But more importantly: What did _you_ do?"

She sat down on her heels next to his foot, trying to assess the damage without actually having to touch him yet. Now that she got a real close look and saw how bad it was, she sucked in a sharp breath.

"That looks really bad, Patrick."

He blinked back tears, rising unexpected and fast at something so simple as his name rolling off her tongue at the end of a sentence. Luckily she was too busy worrying about the amputation of his foot right now, to notice him struggle for a moment to keep his voice light and carefree. And then it occurred to him that she probably had not even realised she'd said his name in the first place. That last thought made speaking even more difficult. He swallowed hard. Then said:

"It's just bruised. Like my ego. You're right. I should be able to climb a simple fence."

"Fences at airports are not meant to be climbable, you know", Lisbon said amused.

"Yeah well, I had no choice, they wouldn't let me in."

Now she did have to touch his foot. She felt him tense in pain.

"Why didn't you just show them your ID?", she asked, choosing one of the ointments that she recognised and had used herself before and started applying it with a light, careful touch. He winced a few times anyway. When Lisbon looked up at him, she expected to see pain in his face. Instead, she saw his cheeks redden in what she recognised as embarrassment. He mumbled something.

"What?"

"I sort of… left it at the crime-scene."

She couldn't suppress a laugh and took her hands away from his injured foot, until her body had stopped shaking.

"It's not that funny", he grumbled.

"Let me get this straight: You organise, plan and execute that elaborate ruse to trick me and then this almost goes off the rails because you forgot your ID…"

He looked at her a little offended. "It wasn't quite like that. Plus, I was in a hurry."

She started rolling the bandage around his leg, once, twice, careful not to make it too tight.

"Well, your own fault for leaving it to the last minute."

He winced again, when she had to move his foot to the correct position, before she started to roll the bandage in a first figure of eight around his ankle.

"Actually, that wasn't my fault. I was already on my way, when I was taken hostage."

"What?"

She stopped. He pointed at his foot, complaining.

"That's too tight."

"No it's not. It has to be tighter towards the toes. Hostage?"

He waved a dismissive hand at her. "The bad girls showed up. Waved guns. And don't you think that I don't know what you're doing there. We were discussing a totally different subject, remember?"

Her gaze was fixed on his foot. Jane tilted his head, eyes running over her body, reading, scanning and not finding what he was looking for. He realised this was going to require a new approach. One that he needed to practice anyway. Honesty.

"Ok, I'm not trying to be a pest, it's just I'm a bit worried, okay? Why don't you want to tell me?", he asked quietly.

Her hands stopped moving. She leaned back on her heels, holding the end of the bandage like a leash. Her cheeks were red. Embarrassment? That was unexpected.

"Is it….?" That same high voice as before. He waited.

"Is it… bad that I feel a little… insulted by his reaction?"

Jane bit his tongue. Laughing would probably get him kicked out of bed. Without first aid. Or burning any calories. Or even sleep. He leaned back on his elbows, a wave of relief washing over him at realising what had passed between her and the man he wanted to forget.

"What was his reaction?"

"At first he was upset, stunned, kind of. He asked me how and why and what you've done to trick me into this."

Jane nodded in approval. "So he's not as unimaginative as I thought after all."

A growl. A deep growl. He wanted to grin, then realised that she still held the end of the bandage in her hand. Which could have painful consequences for him.

"Sorry. What then?"

"I… explained it as best as I could…"

"That you felt like this for a while, hoping I would, too, but then when I was being a selfish jerk and it seemed I didn't anyway, you thought you needed to move on. Forget about me. And then, when you finally made a move to do so with him, out of the blue, I finally managed unexpectedly to get off my backside and catch up with you. Which — and I am willing to testify to that, if required — you could not have foreseen at any point during the past six months."

She smiled.

"Pretty much."

She leaned forward again to finish bandaging his foot. He felt her fingers slip up his calf beneath the leg of his trousers in a soft, short caress, before returning to their first-aid-duties. She took a deep breath, then said.

"He once said to me he knows when something is… real."

She looked up at Jane and their eyes met. Time stood still again. And all was silent. Except for the distant sound of waves rolling in from the sea. And the occasional scream of a sea-gull.

"So I told him."

Her voice faded, was almost lost in the silence and the white noise from outside. But he caught her words anyway.

"That this… is … as real as it will ever get… For me."

The tears he was blinking back, were running down her face. Forgetting his ankle, his fatigue and everything else, he scooted forward, until he was able to reach for her shoulders and pull her into his arms. Her warm breath tickled his chest and he slid a hand into her hair to hold her steadily against him. She slid her arms around his waist, holding on, leaning into him with a long, tired sigh. He kissed the top of her head and whispered three words into her hair.

He was glad when the sob that escaped her lips covered the sound he made.

They stayed in that embrace, Jane gently rocking them a little, feeling himself falling further and further into warm, blissful oblivion, where everything was just Lisbon and warmth and… He pressed his nose into her hair, closing his eyes.

A moment later, he forced them to open again.

No. This was not good. They were over-tired. Drained. Physically and emotionally. They needed rest. But they needed to put this behind them for good. Which now, thanks to Pike being the dull idiot Jane always thought he was, would only require a few more minutes. He smiled into her hair and said softly.

"And that's when he started throwing sports metaphors at you, wasn't it?"

She raised her head from his chest and leaned back, staring at him open-mouthed and in shock.

"How... ?"

Jane shrugged with one shoulder, a lopsided grin and a tilt of the head.

"Just a guess."

She brushed a few more tears out of her face, gave a snort and then crawled back down to the foot of the bed to finish her first-aid-assignment. Jane watched her, then, when she didn't say anything, explained.

"He seems like the kind of guy that would."

She gave a huff. He wasn't sure if the noise was meant to communicate annoyance at Pike, Jane's assessment of him or the fact that by moving he'd managed to undo much of her previous loving attempt to turn him into a mummy.

"It was probably the only thing he could think of. Maybe he thought it would make it easier for both of you."

"Not every good training session leads to victory?"

"Ok", Jane conceded. "Not one I would have chosen in this context."

"Champions keep playing until they get it right?"

"Ouch."

"If you fall off the horse…?"

He let himself drop back into the bed. The noise he made, when he hit the pillow was closer to that of an actual sheep than ever before.

"Ok. This is painful."

She knew he wasn't talking about his foot, but moved slower and gentler anyway just in case.

"You're telling _me?_"

She sighed and mumbled. "Why do I always fall for the wrong ones?"

He lifted his head. And only his head.

"You really want me to answer that?"

She looked up at him and laughed. He looked beyond adorable. The laugh turned into an amused smile.

"Do you really think that explaining to me in detail why I have crap taste in men, is going to help your cause?"

He frowned, apparently giving this some thought. Then he shook his head.

"No, because you don't _have_ crap taste in men."

He frowned again, then tilted his head shaking it from side to side.

"Well… except for this one maybe."

She shook her head, concentrated on the next figure of eight around his ankle. Her voice was quiet, thoughtful again.

"I know I should feel more guilty about this…"

"Oh, please", Jane waved a hand in the air.

"He'll be fine. Trust me. I bet, we'll both get a wedding invitation before the year is out."

She made a surprised sound.

"You think so?"

"Sure. He's someone who falls in and out of love easily. Because his life is easy. You'll see. By the end of the year, he'll tell you that at first it hurt like hell, but it was what he needed to find himself and — by proxy — the poor woman he's ultimately going to marry."

Lisbon smiled, enjoying listening to Jane's voice gaining his old smugness, determination and amusement. But this wasn't right. She shook her head.

"I'm sure it's not that simple."

"Trust me, it is. He'll find someone else to fit into his life-plan."

"What?"

"Life-plan" Jane made quotes in the air with his fingers. "How to design the life you've always wanted and why you must. There's a book on that. Well, a ton actually."

She looked up at him with an irritated frown.

"Marcus didn't have a life-plan."

Jane propped himself up on his elbows again, so he could get a better look at her.

"Sure he does. Which is why he was in such a hurry. Because the plan says: 2014: marry attractive, wonderful, amazing woman — that was supposed to be you by the way — 2015: buy a house. 2016: have first of three children. And get a new car. Probably in August."

Jane stopped, when he realised her shoulders were hunched up just a little bit too much and her head hung a little lower than before.

"What?" he asked, cursing himself. Too much, too fast. Too tired. He was simply too tired to get this right. He was supposed to make this easier for her, not more difficult.

"I really thought he was in love with me. I thought he was a good guy", she said quietly.

Jane reached out a hand, but she was too far away. So he dropped it back on the bed, clenching his fist in frustration.

"Of course he was in love with you. Of course he is a good guy. My own emotional paralysis aside, do you really think that if he'd been a real jerk I would have let him get this close to you without making a fuss?"

Lisbon sniffed, then gave a snort.

"If he had been a real jerk, _I_ wouldn't have let him get close to_ me_. I don't like jerks."

Jane grinned. "Well, that's a relief… "

"Present company excepted of course."

When he saw a smirk lurking in the corners of her mouth, he smiled. That was better. But she was still not looking at him.

"I mean, given all the facts, you might want to reconsider your choice..."

Her head came up a bit higher. Then her eyes made contact with his. That was _much_ better.

"I mean, life-plan and bad rhetoric aside, you know you've made kind of a bad deal here, exchanging a decent, kind, undamaged, pretty considerate guy for…"

He pointed at himself, from tousled hair to bandaged foot.

"This mess."

Something in her eyes flickered. He felt his stomach lurch and all the air evaporating from his lungs, the small amount that was left, just enough to press a few scared words through his suddenly tightly shut jaws.

"Teresa? You're not _really _having second thoughts, are you?"

Her head shot up.

"No!"

She looked at him. He looked back. Then she said in a very small voice.

"Though that just sounded like you…?"

"God, no!"

He flinched. He hadn't meant to shout. Though it did make Lisbon smile again for a second.

"Good."

"Good."

After staring at him across the silence of the room for another minute without blinking, Lisbon finally pushed the air from her lungs in a deep sigh and put her hands in her lap, looking away again.

"He is pretty decent. And kind. And undamaged and considerate and a bad liar. A very bad liar, in fact and …"

The corners of her mouth twitched. As did Jane's.

She didn't dare to finish the sentence, but he had no problem with it whatsoever.

"… and boring as a disconnected fire hydrant."

She shot him a look, pretending to be offended, but then, when he raised his eyebrows just a little more and shifted his smile just a little bit closer towards a grin, she suddenly let her forehead drop against his calf with a deep sigh, that sounded like she'd been holding her breath for months.

"Heavens, yes. You have _no _idea…"

When they both stopped laughing a few minutes, tears and strained abdominal muscles later, Jane said:

"See, instead of retaining some small, but powerful ball of anger with my name on it for getting you into this mess, you should actually be happy that in the end I saved you from one hell of a boring marriage."

"My hero", Lisbon said with a snort.

Jane shrugged into the mattress, somewhere north of her. She turned her head to look at him.

"Not that I've been worried about that. You would never have accepted that kind of awful proposal", he said with a yawn. "I could empty a trash-can with more romance, feeling and enthusiasm", he mumbled. He stretched his back, which made his shirt reveal even more skin.

Her hands on the bandage stilled. For two very different reasons.

"Uh…"

Jane sat up like a lightning bolt, staring at her in disbelief.

"You actually did? When? And why on earth would you…?"

Then it dawned on him. His shoulders slumped down.

"Oh."

She turned her head and gave him a sour grin.

"Yeah. _Oh._"

He let himself fall back into the pillow with a frustrated groan and put a hand over his face.

"Is EVERYTHING about this my fault?" He asked from somewhere behind her.

She rolled the bandage around his foot one more time, then clipped it, before leaning back on her heels to admire her work of art.

"Essentially? Yes."

He let his hand fall from his face and sat up again, a sudden look of determination crossing his features.

"Good. Excellent, in fact. That means we can skip the rest of this conversation and go straight to the part where I apologise profoundly for all of it, right?"

"Maybe."

"Depending on?"

"What kind of apology you have in mind."

He grinned, walked his fingers over the sheets towards her, until his fingertips just ever so lightly touched her. He leaned a little forward, until his fingers curled around her arm and he tugged at it with gentle force, the grin on his face turning back into a soft smile, the look in his eyes new, different and yet somehow still familiar. She tried to remember to breathe, but it took a moment before her brain recognised the memory as important enough to recall it. Which was pointless anyway, because by the end of his next sentence she'd forgotten all about breathing again.

"I think the kind you're really going to like."

She let him pull her up towards him and back into the warm embrace she'd already started to miss so much.

"Profoundly?", she asked with a soft smile, running a hand into his hair.

"Oh, definitely", he whispered against her lips.

And then he kissed her. And the room fell silent.

* * *

_**That was quite a lot of words for one weekend ;-) And since writing about tired people actually makes you tired, I'm going to sleep now, hoping that you liked this chapter. Thank you for sticking with this story!  
**_


	5. I don't want to fall asleep

**A/N:** So I kind of stumbled across a small crack in the space-time-continuum in my living-room. Which means that I gained 7 unexpected extra hours of writing time. Which I hope I put to good use ;-)

* * *

Inside, Jane and Lisbon were kissing.

Outside, the ocean was calm and wide, the hot midday sun painting bright, golden sparkles across the smooth surface of the water. The waves were small, gentle things that rolled towards the shore with loving excited whispers, flowing up and down and into each other, diving, rising, breaking apart, then flowing back together, pushing each other forward, towards the shore. At the end of their journey, the waves fell silent, while building up pressure and then arching up in a soft curve with gentle determination, holding still just for a moment, before breaking with an excited growl and rushing towards the beach. There, the growl turned into a long welcoming sigh, when it was met by the silent soft trickle of water on its reluctant way back into the sea. In passing, water and waves flowed into each other, caressing, pushing against one another with gentle force, until one was back out at sea and the other was finally allowed to brush a cool tingling caress across the hot sand.

Both scenarios were essentially the same.

Except that there were no sea-gulls inside the room. No living ones, anyway.

But there was a cool tingling caress inside the room, the last of many, made by Jane's fingers brushing over Lisbon's flushed cheeks, finding their way back to her neck and behind her ear, holding her in place, while he softly kissed her upper lip, smiling what she knew to be a smug smile, when she tried to slip her tongue back into his mouth. When he wouldn't let her, she lightly sucked on his lower lip and the smile broke apart and into a sound that she knew she wanted to remember for the rest of her life. Now it was her turn to smile that exact same smile against his lips. The realisation made them break apart for a short, soft duet of chuckles, before leaning back in to continue kissing.

Kissing Jane, really kissing Jane, with no one around and no distractions like people or anxious thoughts lingering close by, was even more amazing than she always dreamed it would be. She only wished she wasn't so damn tired and the bed not so damn comfortable, because the combination of both made her drowsy. Pushing against the warm, heavy wave of sleep rolling over her body, she put a little more pressure into the kiss again and this time he let her, welcoming her tongue with his and pushing her a little further into the mattress, his hands, until now resting on either side of her face, starting to move downwards, trailing along her neck, her shoulders and down her arms, before brushing in the softest of touches over her sides. With a soft moan, the last of many in she had no idea how long, she pushed her hands deeper into his hair, drawing a similar sound from him. She thought she'd succeeded in holding of sleep for a little while longer and maybe even for long enough to do more than kissing, when he suddenly buried his face in her neck with a long sigh that sounded suspiciously like it was masking a yawn. She ran a hand down his neck and over his shoulders, feeling him shiver ever so lightly under her touch.

"What? Are you done apologising already?", she asked, fingers curling back behind his ear.

"Just taking a break", he mumbled against her skin, voice thick and yet a little rough, fatigue and emotion wrestling with his words, making him sound so different and yet so him at the same time, that it made Lisbon draw him into her just a little more, so she could lift her head and kiss the top of his. He smiled against her skin.

"Good apology so far?"

"I'd say, without a doubt, your best ever. You should have started apologising like this a lot sooner."

He huffed against her neck and she closed her eyes at the amazing tingling sensation his breath left on her skin.

"And risk my life for a simple apology for something that was probably not my fault in the first place or if it was, lead in the end to a successful arrest?"

She ruffled his hair. He lifted his head far enough to blink at her with a mock serious expression on his face.

"I am serious. You'd have punched me, if I'd done that in the middle of the CBI bullpen."

She pulled him back into her neck, and, after kissing the top of his head again, whispered a quiet question into his hair, voice low and nothing more than a soft breath.

"Were you ever… thinking about it?"

He made a questioning sound against her neck.

"About what? Kissing you in the middle of the bullpen?"

She hesitated for a moment, then said into the white noise of waves crashing onto the shore outside.

"Yeah."

Another wave of rushing whispers rolled against the bay doors and into the room. Finally, after a long minute, she felt him nod against her skin.

"Course I have. How could I not?"

He gave her a gentle nudge with his nose.

"You?"

She gave a defeated little snort and ran her hand from the nape of his neck to his forehead.

"As if you really have to ask."

He moved away from her and rolled to his side, propping himself up on one elbow, so he could get a good look at her. When she'd done the same and their gazes settled and locked, he replied.

"No, but I _want_ to ask."

She laughed.

"Does that make a difference?"

The moment the words had left her tongue she realised that it did. A huge difference. She fell silent. When she looked into his eyes, the intense attention in them, all concentrated on her, made her almost a little dizzy.

"Yes, it does", he said in that same quiet voice than before. And then, just before things could get too intense and too serious, a smile spread back over his face.

"So. I'm asking. Did you think about kissing me in the middle of the bullpen?"

She laughed and was glad her cheeks were already flushed and red, so he couldn't spot the slight touch of embarrassment flowing into her features. He tilted his head to the side, the look in his eyes telling her, that he was in the process of reading her.

"You were thinking about kissing me, but not in the middle of the bullpen…" he said contemplating what he saw. She shook her head and heard herself say in a voice so light and carefree that it took her a moment to identify it as her own.

"Couch. On the couch. Actually. Since you're asking."

He grinned.

"Yours or mine?"

When she didn't reply right away, he raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Both?"

She gave him a shove against his chest. He let himself fall back with a laugh. When he turned his head to look at her, Lisbon had rolled onto her stomach and propped herself up on her elbows. Her hands were folded on top of the pillow. She stared at them, not meeting his eyes.

"Did you really? I mean… I never thought once… that you might… did"

He sighed, reached out to her, until his fingertips touched her wrist. He tapped his fingers against her hands, until she unfolded them, so he could slip a hand into hers.

"I did. Really. Only I... "

She looked at their joined hands, then, when he didn't go on, she brushed her hair out of her face and searched his. She noticed he was thinking hard, trying to put something into words. Careful words, by the way he tilted his head and his eyes were staring into the space beyond the sheets and the room and the sea and even beyond her. It seldom took him this long to start speaking.

"I… just never let myself finish the thought. For a world of reasons. I pushed it away as soon as I felt it coming on. And the few times it did manage to take hold, I made it into something amusing… meaningless, I… convinced myself that… it didn't…"

He looked at her now, eyes darting across her face, anxious to figure out, if she understood what he meant, what he tried to say next. She held his gaze, squeezing his hand a little, but he saw pain lingering somewhere deep behind her eyes. He forced himself to go on anyway. She deserved the truth. All of it.

"That it was just a distraction, a mind-game to pass the time. And that if it did ever happen for whatever reason… it didn't, wouldn't… mean anything… to me."

Now his hand was squeezing hers. Hard. He felt a wave of pain rolling towards him, in her quiet words as well as the space between them, but it wasn't because of his tight grip.

"But you knew it would mean everything to me. Even back then."

He cast his eyes down and hung his head low, nodding once.

The bed started spinning and he felt a sharp pain in his neck, where a muscle decided the tension was too much to bear and just shut down in anger. He felt her gearing up to say something, emotions vibrating, tumbling, screaming in her breath, as she drew in some air to carry her next words.

_Please don't say it. I was lying to myself. You must know that. Please don't say I didn't care._

When her words reached across the fatigue and the fear and the panic and the self-loathing, they were not the ones he had expected. He also hadn't expected them to be delivered side by side with the soft touch of her hand on his cheek. And a knowing smile.

"Which was one of your world of reasons not to contemplate this any further at the time?"

He let out the breath he'd been holding, just staring in something close to disbelief at the loving expression on her face, at her eyes, that were clear and bright and made him finally realise that the pain he saw in them, wasn't her own, but a reflection of his. He blinked. Blinked again. Then pressed a kiss into the palm of her hand.

"A whole continent", he said, the words coming out in a sigh, relief and fatigue making them sound heavy, slow and slightly slurred.

When he closed his eyes, she felt his head get heavier in her hands, realised a muscle in his neck was twitching and the elbow that held his torso up, was slightly shaking, like a tree about to break under the pressure of a heavy load of fresh snow. She brushed her fingers across and away from his cheek in a gentle caress, then let them trail down his arm to the end of his shirt-sleeve. She tugged at it. Once. Twice.

"Come on, lie down."

"Can't lie down", he replied. "If I lie down, I fall asleep. If I fall asleep, I can't see you. Or talk to you. Okay, maybe I could talk to you, but I would probably not make much sense."

"Which is different from the current state of affairs how exactly?"

"Very funny…"

She smiled, her index finger now uncurling from the sleeve and sliding beneath it. She wasn't sure if fatigue or her touch sent another shiver across his skin, but judging from the fact, that she had barely touched him, it was probably the former. God, he was really tired. But then, so was she. She smiled.

"That was the plan though. To get some rest? So, come on. Rest. We can talk about all of this later."

Another tug. And this time his arm did give way and his head dropped onto the pillow like the crown of a chopped off tree. His eyes had closed, even before his cheek had buried four angry sea-birds beneath it. He sighed.

"I don't want to fall asleep."

His speech was slurred now, eyelids closing and opening, fingers reaching for her across the bed. She scooted closer, carefully, slowly, pulling his head to her shoulder. His arm went round her waist and she pushed a hand into his hair and heard him sigh in frustration.

"Seriously. I refuse to fall asleep on what could be viewed as our first date."

Lisbon smiled at him. "Since you're not really properly dressed and I'm also about to shed at least some of these clothes before falling asleep…"

At that his eyes opened again. Wide. And alert. Lisbon chuckled. Beneath all that bravado and cleverness and mysterious mentalist stuff, he was, at the end of the day, really just a guy. Who would have thought? She pushed a strand of hair from his forehead. He closed his eyes again at her touch.

"… _and_ since we're already in bed together, I think we might be well past that, don't you?"

He grunted without opening his eyes.

"We should have a first date, though. Can't be in bed together without a first date."

Lisbon gave it some thought. She found that stroking his hair and throwing a leg over his to bring them even closer together was really helping her concentration.

"We've had breakfast together earlier", she suggested after a while.

He contemplated this, then nodded gravely against her shoulder.

"Works for me."

"Good."

"Hm."

She pressed her nose into his hair, closing her eyes, feeling his breath against her neck and his hand on her waist now one layer of clothing closer to her skin, brushing softly over the black sleeveless shirt she wore beneath her blouse. When had he…? The question was abandoned mid-sentence, when she felt a tug at the shirt and then it slipped out of her jeans and his hands under the shirt. She bit her lower lip.

"Didn't you say something about shedding clothes?" Jane asked in a soft smile against her shoulder.

"For someone so tired, your memory works rather well."

"I told you once before, I always file away the important stuff. And only the important stuff."

"And me talking about shedding clothes is important?"

"Very."

She laughed, feeling herself leaning closer, wanting to curl into him, to close her eyes and rest her head against his chest, listening to his heart-beat slowing down, feeling him relax, slide softly into sleep with his arms around her and… a low impatient rumble dragged her out of her thoughts.

"So what are you waiting for?"

She gave a snort.

"Mostly for you to get your hands and your head off me, so I can get up and change into something more comfortable."

"Oh. But it's nice here. And warm. And comfy. I don't really feel like moving."

"Come on. Move."

Her frowned, then shook his head.

"I don't think I have to. I bet I can get you out of those clothes without you moving an inch. Trust me, I used to make things disappear for a living and…"

His frown went from rivulet to Grand-Canyon-level.

"Wait, you never said anything about putting _different _clothes on."

She sighed and tried to wriggle out of his grasp.

"Jane, come on, let go. I'll be back in a minute."

When he didn't respond - because growling didn't count as a valid response in her book - she simply moved her shoulder, so his head bounced off it and back onto the bed. Lisbon sat up. But before she could even begin to move towards the edge of the bed, she heard the growl again and an arm reached round her. A few seconds later, his head was back on her shoulder and she was back in her previous position. Minus her blouse that was. For some reason, it had continued on the journey off the bed alone and was now drifting happily towards the floor. When she tried to sit up and shake his head off her shoulder again, she realised something else was missing.

"Jane!"

He grinned and pushed his nose against the small soft strap of the black shirt, that was now the only piece of fabric left on her shoulder.

"What?"

At least she thought that was the word behind the tired noise he made, having apparently now spent the last of his energy to free her from blouse and bra.

"Nothing", she whispered, deciding that he was right. This was comfy and nice and she really didn't want to get up again. So she wriggled out of her jeans to the occasional protesting sound when she moved too much and made his head almost roll off her shoulder.

"That's better. How about you? You comfy?", she asked when she was done, tugging lightly at his shirt.

"Hm hm."

"Sure?"

"Hm. S'nice.. s' all nice. "

She gave a soft laugh.

"You weren't joking about talking nonsense in your sleep then?"

He smiled.

"Funny."

She ran a hand back through his hair, glad his eyes were closed and he couldn't see the awful soppy loving mother-hen-look that probably graced her face right now.

"You should try to sleep for a bit. We both should."

"Told you… don't wa… nt.. to.."

She continued to run her fingers through his hair and frowned. Seeing him struggle so hard against falling asleep was curious, because he was usually much better at this than she was. She remembered how over the years he sometimes went for days without a proper rest, usually when something really mattered to him or when he was scared or anxious and… She frowned, when she felt a thought starting to take shape. She gave him a gentle shove.

"Hey?"

"Hm?"

"How long have you been awake?"

He sighed. And frowned.

"Don't know. Three days? Longer? I was a bit hyped up and kind of lost track…"

She sucked in a sharp breath.

"Because of me?"

He shook his head. Grinned.

"Nah… Star Trek marathon on SyFy, actually."

She ruffled his hair. He smiled at her without opening his eyes. She leaned over, pressed a long, soft kiss to his forehead. Then instead of her lips, her voice suddenly brushed over his skin.

"Idiot."

He chuckled.

"Ah, but it was all worth it, just to hear you use that wonderful term of endearment."

Another kiss. Softer. Longer. Her hands in his hair started to shake ever so lightly, a wave of emotion running down from her fingertips across his skin, as it finally started to dawn on her just how scared he must have been at the thought of losing her. How lost and anxious and desperate to plot that stupid ruse only - at least in a worst case scenario - to keep her at his side for a few days longer. So scared and hyped up that he hadn't slept in days. Because of the thought of losing her. Of waking up in a world without her. When she was sure she could move again, she leaned down and stroked his cheek with her fingers, then let her voice follow, only a soft whisper, ghosting against his skin.

"Just go to sleep, love."

And then she saw it. Out of the corner of her eye. The stunned expression, that, just for the blink of an eye, chased across his face at being addressed with a word he hadn't heard in over a decade and probably, for all this time, never had expected to ever hear again in connection with himself. When the stunned expression disappeared, it left unshed tears in her eyes. She blinked them away, angry with herself now for not doing this sooner. He'd had so much more to lose than her and he had risked everything by telling her. She should have done this hours ago. She leaned over, taking his face in her hands, brushing her lips ever so softly against his, feeling him shut his eyes even more tightly, letting her hands trail down his neck and finally run over his chest to his heart. Just before the first gasp escaped his lips, she whispered against his skin in a trembling voice.

"I love you, Patrick Jane."

And then he came undone in front of her eyes for the forth time in one day, the sensory and emotional overload finally taking its toll. Pulling her against him, lips crushing against hers, tears running out of the corners of his tightly shut eyes, he made a sound between a sob and a sigh and a gasp and a howl and a laugh, something so desperate and hopeful, so painful and happy and just so deep, that it shook both of them to the core and left them just holding on to each other for a long while.

The first thing he noticed, when thought returned and the tide of emotion receded back to the fringes of this soul, was that unfamiliar sensation he'd felt on his skin when they had first kissed in this room. How he'd felt her touch so much clearer, so much deeper, how it left his skin tingling and warm, especially now, with her hands drawing soft, soothing patterns over his chest and her lips brushing against his neck. He opened his eyes and turned his head. Wide green eyes met his.

"Hey."

"Hey."

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah. Just… uh… "

Her hand moved again. Over his chest towards his shoulder. Before he could stop it or deflect it, his eyes closed and his breath hitched a lot more than it should at a touch this simple. Which Lisbon finally noticed. Her fingers stopped. So the shivers that had run through him before had not been out of fatigue after all. But they hadn't exactly been of a sexual nature either. At least she didn't think so.

"Jane?"

He kept his eyes shut. She tried again, reaching up a hand up to cup his cheek.

"Patrick? Hey?"

The softness of her voice and her touch made him finally look at her. The encouraging and curious smile on her lips, the soft concern around her eyes and the feeling of safety that came with the gentle touch of her hands on his face, made him speak.

"I'm sorry. It's just… I wasn't... prepared to..."

He shook his head to clear it for what he knew to be the final time, before his luck and energy finally ran out. Her tried again.

"When you're… alone for so long, when no one… touches you and you don't let anyone touch you for, well, obvious reasons, when you're emotionally numb for a great period of time, it kind of… there's a physical aspect to it. You don't notice it, of course, but your skin starts to get numb as well. You don't feel as you did. But then you don't know that, because since no one is touching you, how can you know that something is different? And the only time someone did, you were so scared and disgusted with yourself, the last thing you were contemplating was a touch on your skin."

He took a deep breath, then shrugged.

"It's like being covered in a thick coat of paint or mud. Or like wearing a rubber glove. You can still feel a change in pressure or temperature, but that's all you feel. Just a plain, scientific kind of sensory input. Which can be quite useful, when your sense of touch is not dulled by emotion, it works… better. In a way. But it doesn't feel… like feeling."

He shook his head with a frustrated sigh.

"That makes no sense, does it?"

She brushed a hand over his chest again, slowly, deliberately, noting how his pupils dilated, how the corner of his mouth twitched, how she could feel that he wanted to shut his eyes, but dared not to. She swallowed hard, before answering in a quiet voice.

"Actually, it does."

He shook his head again, still more than a little embarrassed, a sharp memory of pain making his pupils retract and the muscles in his shoulder tense. He breathed the feeling away, flexed his fingers and ran a hand over his own chest experimentally. It felt surprisingly good. Not as good as Lisbon's fingers had, but not numb anymore as before. He knew she was watching him and he lifted his arm and put it around her shoulders, pulling he towards him. When she slid a hand back across his chest to his shoulder, he closed his eyes again, then after a moment said:

"On the island, I tried to convince myself, that it was getting better. That I was healing. That time would do what everyone said it would. I remember one day, I was lying on the beach, very close to the water's edge and the tide came in. I lay there in the sand, letting the water wash over me, trying to remember if it felt like feeling, if this was what feeling was. And I thought I felt again, but now I know I didn't. What it was, was just salt, industrial waste and a change in temperature irritating my skin."

He laughed, a short, harsh bark and sighed. "You're right. I'm talking rubbish in my sleep, I'm probably unconscious considering what utter nonsense I've just said."

He knew her eyes were wide and dark and full of concern, without needing to look at her. Just when he was about to make some funny, ironic remark to distract her and change the subject, she moved in his embrace, kissed his bare shoulder and the remark was gone. He didn't mind. It hadn't been that funny anyway.

"Do you feel this?"

He took a deep breath, then let it out in a long sigh.

"Yes."

Her lips touched his skin just a little lower.

"And this?"

"Hm."

"Or this?"

He almost sobbed as she slowly slid the shirt from his shoulders, kissed her way across his chest, ran her hands down his arms, kissed his forehead, his nose, his cheeks. He reached up with shaking hands.

"I feel all of it. I feel all of you."

Tears. In both their eyes as she first reawakened every inch of numb skin on his bare chest with her lips and then retraced her steps and caressed his skin softly back towards relaxation and sleep with her hands.

"Teresa, I…"

"Shhh."

"I…"

He reached out to her, but she pushed his hands down.

"Just let me kiss you good-night."

He felt himself fall into a strange new place, where all was light and warmth and peace and the love of a woman he'd almost lost. The sound of the ocean, rising and falling like his chest beneath her soft hands and lips, beckoned him to cross over into the sea of dreams.

For the first time in years the thought of falling asleep didn't scare him.

And when her lips brushed once more over his skin along with the words "Now go to sleep, love", he smiled. And did.

* * *

**A/N:** Next two weeks will be tough, but I'll try my best to get another chapter done. Can't promise anything though. Hope you liked this one.


	6. Waking at Sunset

**A/N:** Thank you so much for the favs, follows and reviews. I have no idea how I did this or if it makes any sense, but it seems chapter 6 has a first sentence, a last sentence and a *lot* of words in between, so here it is :-) Small warning: This chapter is rated M for… well, a decent bed and things happening in it ;-).

* * *

Lisbon was drifting in an ocean of deep blue rest, her body floating on waves of warmth, rising and falling beneath her in a slow steady motion, holding, carrying her above the water and preventing her from falling into the darkness of the deep below. Sometimes a wave would rise up and stroke past her sides or her back and once she even thought the water was caressing her face. She'd never had that particular dream before. She'd dreamt of water years ago, but it had been in nightmares that featured a dark lake and a lifeless body floating in it.

For a moment she was afraid the black water in her memory would flush the comforting deep blue ocean away, but just then another wave brushed over her back and the black receded and everything was just calm blue again and she felt herself rising and falling along with the waves, drifting into a peaceful slumber once more. A long while later, she washed up on the shore of reality with a slight whimper, not wanting to leave the sea and with it the warmth of the water and the gentle motion of the waves. When she opened her eyes, the sea was gone, chased away to a place somewhere beyond the bay doors.

But the warmth was still there.  
As was the gentle motion.

She closed her eyes again, diving into the amazing sensation of Jane's warm skin against hers, of his chest rising and falling beneath her, of his scent so close, so familiar, all around her. All of _him_ all around her, really. One hand was resting in the small of her back, the other on her shoulder, fingertips wedged between the soft strap of her shirt and her skin. His nose was pressed into her hair, while his breath brushed in soft, gentle strokes against her ear.

She remembered falling asleep just like that, with her face on his chest, listening to his heart-beat and his breathing. He'd been asleep for a few minutes already, before he wrapped his arms around her and finally pulled her out into the sea of dreams with him. In which they had both stayed all day, judging from the gentle golden evening light, that now seeped through the bay doors into the room, casting long shadows on the floor and throwing a warming blanket over the bed and their bodies on top of it.

Well, his body on top of the bed and hers more or less on top of him, to be precise.

Which felt surprisingly good. Her body itself, that was. That resting her cheek against Patrick Jane's bare chest felt good, wasn't really a surprise at all. But she had expected the odd muscle or two to cramp somewhere during the… well, day, in this case. Or a limb to fall asleep. Or a joint to hurt. Things that always happened when you slept in a different bed and a different position than usual, especially if both were the result of a second person being present. Her neck had given her trouble all through the last few weeks because of that, but she'd thought it was a small price to pay for not waking up alone anymore. But after waking up, she'd slipped out of bed almost at once each morning, fearing her brain would remind her that "not alone" wasn't the same as "not lonely" and that the pain in her neck would give her a headache for the long rest of the day if she didn't wash it away with a hot shower.

Waking up next to — or on top of — Jane felt like winning the lottery in comparison. Nothing hurt. Not her body. Not her heart. Not her soul. And her mind was for once not occupied with the concept of loneliness, but a very different emotional state. And she had no intention of stopping it.

She shifted her head, so she could see his face and ran a hand through his hair, which now shimmered like pure gold in the evening light.

Neither had she any intention of fighting against the heat that was starting to pool in her stomach or preventing her gaze from wandering over his face, where a small smile was still snuggled up in the corners of his mouth. She cast her eyes over to his shoulders and down his bare chest, fingers trailing along, tracing soft patterns over his skin in the wake of her gaze. She remembered how she had kissed each spot of skin before and how he had responded to her simple touch with so much raw emotion. It was still mind-blowing. She'd triggered this. She'd done this. And he'd let her. Had wanted her to. Had arched up into her touch, without even registering it. And then he'd surrendered to sleep, because she'd asked him to. Which was even more mind-blowing. And just a little scary.

He stirred and she stopped stroking his hair, wondering what would happen when he woke from much needed rest. Would he ask her out to dinner? Would they go for a walk on the beach? Take it slow? Not that she wanted to, but she'd understand it, if he wasn't ready for more yet, especially after what had happened before.

But then again: Was she actually ready for more?

Going by the taste in her mouth and on her tongue the answer was a big fat no.

Hoping that in her angry packing frenzy the day before, she'd remembered to put her toothbrush and wash-bag in the side pocket of her bag, she slid out of Jane's embrace and off the bed, careful not to wake him. When she looked back at him, he'd turned on his stomach in his sleep and buried his face in the pillow. She smiled at him, eyes roaming from his golden hair over his bare shoulders and back, the heat in her stomach intensifying and the task of finding the toothbrush and a few other items suddenly taking on a whole new level of urgency.

Jane grinned into the pillow at the noise she was making, trying not to chuckle, but to keep his breathing as even and calm as before. The noise stopped for a moment and he forced himself to breathe even more shallow and not move or tense a muscle. She moved again, convinced that he was still asleep. When she started rummaging around in her bag, he allowed himself one big gulp of air, perfectly timed with something falling out of her bag onto the floor with a thud. His grin widened. She wasn't usually this clumsy. Or noisy. When he'd gotten up half an hour before, it had taken him almost ten minutes to move her from his chest to the bed without waking her, but once he was out of bed, he hadn't made a single sound. Maybe he wasn't able to do a dignified hobble, but he had managed to do a silent limp. Which, given the circumstances, he was rather proud of.

Light footsteps were moving in the direction of the bathroom. Then something fell to the floor with a clatter. He could hear her curse under her breath something that sounded like "clumsy" and a description of herself that was neither flattering nor accurate in any way.

_Oh, you're not clumsy, love, you're just a tiny bit impatient and so you're unconsciously making yourself drop things, so that the noise will wake me up._

He chuckled against the sound of the bathroom door closing and rolled on his back, casting a glance outside. He blinked. It was getting close to sunset already, the light shifting from pure gold to dark copper, with already a hint of pink and purple shimmering through, while the sun fell fast towards the horizon. The horizon. Now with the sun setting, he was able look into the world outside the room, revealing not a stone terrace and a stretch of beach as expected, but a wooden surface and beyond it the deep blue water of the ocean. He raised an eyebrow. Direct access to the ocean. This was unexpected. And nice. There was something else out there, but it was only visible in the small gab between the two big deck-chairs blocking the view. Intrigued, he raised his head, but his mind lost all interest again, the very moment the bathroom door started to open.

He turned to his side and closed his eyes, letting all muscles in his face relax, slowing his breathing back down to sleep-level. He felt her slip back into the bed and his embrace, with such ease, happiness, confidence and trust that it made his stomach clench for a second. He didn't deserve this. But he wanted this. Her. Now. Forever. More than anything else.

Once Lisbon was curled up into his side, she watched his face for signs of waking up, but all she saw was the total relaxation of deep sleep. She reached out a hand and stroked his cheek, then slid it down his neck and over his collar-bone before pressing it flat against his chest, so she could feel his heart beat slow and gentle beneath her fingers. When she slid her other arm around him and started to stroke his back, he made a small approving sound in his sleep, but didn't stir. The heat inside her stomach did though as a direct result of that sound and she bit her tongue in order to prevent a frustrated huff leaving her mouth.

That was the thing with Patrick Jane. He didn't sleep a lot. But once he did, even a stampede in a bull-pen couldn't wake him. She remembered that it sometimes took a pinch of the nose or five to six hard kicks against the couch to wake him. Obviously those rather crude but effective strategies were no longer an option. For now at least.

She was about to decide that kissing him might be the most effective and gentle way to wake him, when she felt his fingers slide under the strap of her shirt on her back, following its path with the lightest of touches and brushing, caressing, teasing their way up and over her shoulder. Halfway down on the other side, they left her skin and she felt a gentle tug on the strap. For a moment she was unable to move, the heat within her whirling faster, speeding up in unison with her heart-beat and her breathing. When he opened his eyes and she realised he'd been awake all the time and the smile on his face was turning into a smug grin, she struggled for control, trying not to show what that simple touch had done to her. But when a second more insistent tug followed, she surrendered and leaned in, sliding her hands around his neck, closing her eyes and feeling the frustrated huff turn into a soft moan, when his lips brushed against hers.

At the sound she made, he deepened the kiss, but kept it slow, without haste, without pressure. The only pressure he did apply, was to her shoulder, so she fell back into the cool silky sheets. She opened her eyes to see where he was, but they fell shut again, as soon as he started to let his hands brush in lazy, soft strokes across her skin. He slid his fingertips along her jaw and down into the hollow of her neck, where he let them linger for a while, watching an expression of soft pleasure settle on her face, while his fingers explored every inch of skin he could reach in slow, soft teasing circular patterns. When he ran his fingers boldly along and under the hem of her top, he felt her breath hitch and her back arch ever so slightly up into his touch.

It did things to him that he hadn't felt in a lifetime.

His eyes were searching her face, noting every tiny little change in her expression, filing away everything that made her features soften even more, her cheeks turning a deeper shade of red and her breath carrying small sounds of joy she didn't even realise she made. After a while he traced a new, safer path along her collar-bone up to her shoulder and to the side of her neck, his own breathing now getting a little hard to control at the sight of that amazing, beautiful, kind, caring, honest woman pressing her cheek into the palm of his hand with a soft sigh. When she rubbed her nose gently over his fingers he had to let go, not daring to face the intense burst of emotion building up inside him just yet. He knew she saw the beginning of it, like in super slow motion, washing over his face, when she looked at him. He tucked his hand between the pillow and his face, not wanting her to see that it was shaking. But Lisbon clearly had other plans, because it didn't even take half a minute, before she'd managed to coax the hand back out of its hiding place. He smiled at her, laced his fingers through hers, and, when he felt his self-control slip at the gentle squeeze of her fingers, at the loving gaze in her eyes and the anticipation that lingered somewhere close by, he managed to wrap some of the emotional intensity inside of him around three words, whispering words and emotion into the silence and the sunset.

"I love you."

He saw tears welling up in her eyes and was about to say something else, when a wave of panic ran down from her arm into her grip and into his own fingers. She tried to turn, but he reached out, curled a hand around her shoulder and drew her back into his embrace, gently brushing away a few renegade tears from her cheeks.

"Is it morning yet?", she asked and he was lost for a moment, feeling a different kind of panic rising in himself. For once he had no idea what she was thinking. What she was afraid of. Or why she'd worry about the next day, when this one was pretty amazing and still far from being over.

"Not for a very long while", he reassured her, while stroking her back. When she kept silent, he took her head in his hands and pressed a kiss to her forehead, adding.

"But even if it were, no one is forcing us to leave this bed… well, at least not before Friday at 11am."

She pushed her face into his neck with a sigh. The sensation made him close his eyes, but they flew open again, when he was suddenly confronted with cool air, because she had rolled out of his embrace and onto her back. He scooted closer, brushing his fingers over her arm, up to her shoulder and behind her ear.

"At least I think that's the check-out time…"

He retraced the path of his fingers with his lips, kissing his way up her arm to her shoulder, to her neck and behind her ear, where he whispered.

"And in case we still don't want to leave this more than decent bed by then, I'm sure I can convince them to let us stay until Sunday night…"

When she didn't react to his words, he pressed an open-mouthed kiss to her neck. Which finally got him her attention again. He grinned.

"…I'm good at that, you know?"

"Good at what?", she said, turning her head to look at him now, voice heavy and just a little breathless.

He could still see fear lingering somewhere in her eyes. Not a big panic-like fear as before, but fear nevertheless. He tried not to let his own fear show and instead ran a fingertip along the strap and down to the cleavage of her shirt, not stopping this time, not hesitating and, at the base of it, finally crossing over the hem and brushing over the silky fabric covering her breasts in a gentle, soft stroke, that made her breath hitch again… and his voice sound just a little more hoarse than expected, when he said:

"I'm good at convincing people…"

_Convince me, this isn't a dream._

He saw the thought, felt it, could almost swear he could even hear it.

He stopped breathing. Thinking. Moving. If it hadn't meant sudden death, he would even stopped his heart from beating, too, for that long, long moment in which a thousand things fell into place all at once.

_Convince me this isn't just a dream, convince me I won't wake up alone like 730 times before.  
Convince me I won't wake up, looking into a familiar face, that suddenly shows no deep love for me like 134 times before._

Shit. That's why she kept him at arm's length all this time. Because she was afraid he'd notice, that he'd been with her in her dreams. And since she had had no way of knowing how he felt, she was probably afraid he'd make fun of her — or scared he'd use it to manipulate her. He made a big mental note — a flashing neon-sign, actually — to come back to this later, but for now he decided it was time to make it clear to her that this wasn't a dream.

Far from it.

He'd fallen silent, a weird, puzzled look crossing his face. His hand had stopped moving and was covering her left breast now. Somehow she was not really sure if he was aware of it. Which would have been funny, hilarious even, if the distressed emotions ghosting over his face and the fact that was looking right through her, didn't claim her whole attention.

Then his shifted.  
Back to her.  
And nothing was funny anymore.  
Or distressing.

She shivered at the look he was giving her now, that same, almost predatory look he'd had when he'd leaned over for that first kiss. Determined. Intense. All his attention focused on her. All of him focused on her. She felt herself starting to drown in his eyes, wanted to look away or close them, but somehow couldn't. Not even when a hand started stroking her side, then went on to brush over the shirt against her breasts, before drawing a questioning inverted s-shape over her abdomen. Suddenly there was only a single soft fingertip running along the seam of her panties in soft pressure, before his fingers were stroking across the skin on the outside of her thigh. When he came to the end of his reach, he moved his fingers back up on the inside and she knew he saw the intense pleasure in her eyes, felt her breath getting harder, was aware of every shiver, noted every change of colour on her skin, watched every movement in her eyes and on her face, watching her, reading her, while his hands set her skin on fire and the butterflies in her stomach free.

She'd always thought he would watch.  
And she'd always thought she wouldn't like it.  
Now she found to her own surprise that she did.  
A lot.

A short grin whisked over his face and she knew he'd noticed that as well. Before she could wipe off that smug grin by executing a counter-attack that involved some touching and watching of her own, his hands were suddenly under her shirt. Her back arched up, when he started caressing her breasts with a gentle touch, flicking a thumb upwards almost casually from time to time. She tried to hold on to his gaze, his eyes growing darker now, pupils wide and the grin gone from his face, replaced by a look that, in combination with another flick of this thumb, made her finally shut her eyes, feeling a moan building up deep inside of her, vibrating with anticipation and desire.

His fingers trailed south again, out of her shirt and away from her skin. When she felt them move back up again, dragging cool fabric across her heated skin with them, she lifted her back off the mattress and her arms up. When the shirt was gone and his lips replaced his hands, that moan finally escaped her mouth. She felt him smile against her skin, but noted, even through the haze starting to build all around and inside her, that it was a smile of relief.

It puzzled her, but maybe that was just because thinking was kind of difficult with what he was doing right now.

If he was relieved, that meant he'd been scared before, but why would he…?

_Oh, Jane._

Starting this had probably been terrifying for him for a million reasons. But he had anyway, the moment he'd noticed her distress…

_Oh, Patrick, love._

Through the desire and pleasure broke a burst of love, so bright and warm and intense, it made the other two emotions seems trivial and small.

She opened her eyes again and was disoriented, when all she saw was blonde tousled hair. The sensation of his lips on her breasts canceled out everything else and made it hard to keep her eyes open. But she did, needing, willing herself to and him to look up at her. When he finally did after a while, she caught his face in her hands, pulling softly, urging him to move up again. When he did, she kissed him, deep and thorough and harder than before, her own hands now moving over his shoulders and down into the small of his back, fingertips brushing over and slightly under the waistband of his boxers.

_Boxers? When did he…? Never mind._

She concentrated on kissing him again, sliding her tongue over his lips and pushing it back into his mouth, both of them making the same kind of sound at the sensation of their tongues embracing once more.

Both of them tasting a lot like peppermint toothpaste.

_Both of them._

She broke the kiss and blinked at him, her expression an adorable mixture between confusion, accusation and realisation. He shrugged, using the momentum of the movement to push his face into her neck.

"Thought we might be heading this way fast, even before you made all the noise with the express purpose of trying to wake me up", he mumbled against her skin.

"I did not make any… noise on purpose. Or to try and wake you… up"

He chuckled, filing away for future reference what he'd done to add a gasp to both sentences. He was barely finished, when she did something that not only shut his mental filing cabinet, but the whole memory palace itself.

What she did next, made a lock and "closed until further notice" sign appear at the gates.

And his back come off the mattress.

She watched him close his eyes in a pleasure so intense, it broke through his self-control with a long soft moan. Outside the sun was setting with a final explosion of colour, brushing pink, purple, red and gold all over Jane's hair and face and skin. It was almost too much to look at, but she couldn't stop.

She felt him give in to her touch, knowing that she'd managed to break through the last of this many walls of defence, when his back came off the mattress and his hand sought her free one, almost like he wanted to walk hand in hand with her through the gap she'd made in that mighty iron cage around his heart.

_Together._

As if the thought had crossed from her to him, he opened his eyes and turned in a whirl of gold and red and pink light and she let go and reached up to him. He kissed her, a long tender kiss, deep and sweet at the same time, pulling her against him, skin on skin, needing, wanting to be closer. She couldn't really say how he'd removed both their underwear without tearing fabric, but that was maybe because of what his other hand was doing, as soon as the last piece of fabric was gone and revealed the last inches of skin he hadn't touched before. It was then, that she looked at him in the light of the setting sun and he raised his eyebrows questioningly at her.

She knew what he was asking. But she wasn't sure if she was able to reply, while he was still doing _that_.

So she shook her head, thus telling him everything was fine on her end, knowing that she didn't have to explain the most basic reason for her decision. This was Jane, so she was quite sure he'd known for years that she was on the pill. The second and third reason required a sentence, though. It took her a while to even find the words, let alone their meaning.

"It's you… don't want… need…"

A moan cutting the sentence off before she could finish it, when he returned to his former task, apparently convinced that eye contact was not necessary for the rest of this conversation.

"… and…_oh, god_…"

Hell, couldn't he just stop that for a second to let her think? She gasped as another wave of pleasure rippled through her body. Apparently, he could not. She pressed on, through the pleasure and the heat and the gentle touch of his lips and fingers, words coming out hard between equally hard breaths.

"I've been… careful… with…"

At that he finally stopped. And looked up with such surprise and a touch of something that might have been pain or guilt, that she was alarmed for a second, but then it was gone and he grinned at her a very Jane grin.

"Now that's interesting…"

She felt embarrassed heat rising in her cheeks and slapped his shoulder. At which he gave a soft growl, leaned over and ever so gently bit down on hers.

_"Patrick…"_

He shut his eyes against a hurricane of feelings from fear to love from dread to desire and, holding on to her voice, to his name spoken with so much love and longing and want, pushed through everything that tried to keep him paralysed and in the past.

He moved.  
Then stayed still again.

He felt hands reach up and pull his face down, until forehead was resting against forehead, felt her arms come round him, one hand pushing in his hair, one hand grabbing his neck, moaned as her mouth was suddenly on his, kissing him, soft and gentle, small whimpers escaping her lips in between kisses. They stayed like that for a while, neither really moving, both needing to adjust, to feel, to remember what this felt like, bathing in heat and love and the sensation of not knowing where one ended and the other one began. Lisbon was the first to move, pushing up against him, the pleasure that one movement created, making a bright white light flash against his closed eye-lids and his breath catch. Then he moved and he knew by the sound that escaped her mouth, by the way her breath brushed against his cheek, by the way her fingers tightened in his hair, that she felt the same. And then they both knew nothing anymore, as they found a gentle rhythm and everything was love and heat in the last light of the day, until the brilliant pink and red and gold turned to soft blue and everything became too much and — foreheads still touching, fingers laced together, skin moving against skin, whispers of love drifting along mingling breaths — the last wave of pleasure finally broke and they both cried out and fell back into a tight embrace.

A few minutes later, lying on her back and still trying to get her breathing back to normal, Lisbon felt his gaze on her again and smiled. When she realised, it had gone, she moved her head on the pillow and opened her eyes. He was lying on his side, propped up on an elbow, the soft blue light from outside giving his silhouette an almost magical glow.

A realisation which would have either made he swoon or burst out with laughter if it wasn't for that strange look in his eyes. Somehow it was a very _male_ look, with a hint of Jane on the lips and in the corners of his eyes. The combination of those two things could only mean he was thinking about one thing. She shook her head firmly at him, blushing a little.

"Oh, no. Don't you dare. Don't you even dare to THINK that. Just don't."

He blinked.

"What?"

"I know what you're thinking about. Stop it."

He smiled and ran a hand through her hair, before leaning forward and pressing a soft kiss to her bare shoulder, mumbling across her skin:

"Actually, as embarrassing as it is to admit this, I don't think I am capable of proper thinking yet."

When he looked up at her, she brushed a renegade curl from his forehead with a teasing smile.

"Oh, I _know_ your thoughts are far from proper."

She pushed the curl back with a little more force.

"So stop them."

He looked offended.

"What?"

"Don't."

"Don't what?"

"You know exactly what."

"No, I don't", he whispered, leaning up to kiss her again. She let him. A long and soft and gentle kiss, light as a feather and the incoming tide. His lips had barely left hers when he asked in a whisper.

"So was it?"

She pushed him back with a laugh into the pillow.

"I am not going to answer that!"

He gave her the offended puppy look and whined:

"Come on! I haven't done this for ages. I'm really insecure about this. I could use some pointers. A thumbs up. A little encouragement…"

She gave a snort, then grinned and trailed a hand slowly down his bare chest to his abdomen and beyond.

"Oh, I don't really think you need encouragement…"

Instead of being encouraged or distracted by her touch, he kept his eyes firmly on hers with that adorable innocent questioning look. He only blinked once.

"What I need is an answer to my question. It doesn't have to be a verbal one. You can just blink. Or nod. Or…"

She laughed.

"You are impossible, you know that?"

"You might have mentioned it some time", he mused with a shrug. Then he grinned.

"But am I _better_ at being impossible than say….?"

The rest of the sentence was lost in a flock of sea-birds hitting his face. Any verbal form of indignant protest against his question was lost, when he swatted the pillow away and pushed his body back towards hers and — once he'd reached his destination — his tongue back into her mouth. After a long and lazy kiss, he tried again, softer this time. More serious. And maybe even really a little insecure.

"So. Does it compare?"

She gave him a shove. A small one. In perfect tune with her voice.

"You know it doesn't."

She grew serious, but kept brushing her fingers over his chest.

"I wouldn't even know how… I mean… it's… not comparable. It's…

He ran a hand into her hair and down her bare back, stroking her sides, moving back up to cup her cheek and press a soft kiss on top of her nose. It made tears well up in her eyes. He smiled at her. Soft. Loving. Knowing. With conviction.

"It's real. That's why. It's as real as it gets."

He spotted something in her eyes then. A glimmer of heat. Of a fire still glowing, glimmering, waiting to be rekindled. So Jane kissed her again, one arm curling around her shoulder, holding her in place, while his other hand slowly moved down her body, further and further, until…

_"Patrick…"_

He closed his eyes for a moment, knowing he would never get enough of her saying his name like that.

"This is not a dream, Teresa", he whispered against her lips and opened his eyes again to look at her, all the while caressing her, touching her, loving her.

"I promise you. This. Is. Real."

Eyes locked again, unwilling to close, both wanting to see and be seen. Wanting to share. Everything. Her pupils dilating, her breath getting erratic, her skin hot against him, her gaze still holding his, even though his fingers were moving a little faster now and he felt her tremble beneath his touch. Then, when her eyes finally closed and she suddenly held her breath, before letting the air out in a long sigh of pleasure, he leaned in and kissed her back down into the bed and his arms, whispering against her flushed, hot skin with a bright smile.

"By the way: _Now_ I'm done apologising."

Since she wasn't really capable of speech yet, she gave his forearm a playful slap in reply. He chuckled, then pushed his face into her neck and just lay there, his breath softly brushing against her skin.

"This is so amazing", she whispered after a while into the deep blue of the approaching night.

"See, that is all I wanted to hear…" he mumbled into her neck.

She laughed, pressed a kiss to his forehead.

"THAT was nice, too. But I mean this. Now. Right now. You are amazing. Right this very moment."

"What this? Me just breathing? You're not serious, woman. I gave it all and everything and all you can say is: Oh, it's nice that he's still breathing?"

She collapsed on top of him, with an uncontrollable giggle, that belonged to a Teresa Lisbon he'd only glimpsed on very few occasions and never for more than a few moments. He knew he needed to coax her out more often. When she calmed down, she said:

"No. This. No tense silence. No awkwardness. No feeling insecure. Shy. Or doubtful. Not wondering what to do or say next. Not… feeling like not knowing how to be… anymore. This is. Just. Us."

She hesitated for a moment, drew a nervous figure of eight on his chest with a finger, then added:

"I missed us."

She shook her head with a nervous laugh. "Talking about not thinking properly. I make no sense, do I?"

He wrapped his arms around her and shifted them both, so she was curled up into his side again. Then he kissed her forehead and said.

"I humbly admit, love, your thoughts make in fact a lot more sense than mine."

She nudged his nose with hers, shut her eyes and, smiling a big happy smile, whispered against his lips.

"Don't they always…"

And since he basically agreed with that assessment, he smiled back and leaned in for another kiss.

Outside a full moon started to rise in a deep blue night.

* * *

**A/N: *slides from keyboard to floor*. I made it. Despite a migraine-inducing thunderstorm, running out of coffee and the second hell-week at work. Speaking of which: I have to work all week plus all of next weekend, so the next chapter will have to wait a couple of more days. For now I hope you enjoyed this one :)**


	7. One very good Day

**A/N:** Work is still hell, but I managed to find time to write today. So here's chapter 7. Finally. Thank you so much for the reviews & favs & follows. And thank you for taking the time to read this. It means so much.

* * *

The darkness was complete. And completely harmless. Which was, Lisbon thought, the most strange and amazing thing on this equally strange and amazing day. Her gaze drifted deep into the blue and black, but found nothing there. Not the edge of the bed, not the steering-wheel-table in front of her, not the frame and glass of the bay doors, not even the ocean beyond. Everything was dark. A complete, deep blue darkness, that had swallowed the soft glow that had framed the edges of various pieces of maritime furniture only moments before. The darkness had also freed the reflections of moonlight caught in the glass of the bay door and even dissolved all the shadows around them. The world was dark. And yet, it didn't alarm her. Or scare her. Or make her uncomfortable. For the first time in a long time, the dark didn't hold any terrors, nightmares, fear or pain. Because for the first time in a long time, she didn't think of it as darkness.

"It's night already", she said into the black and the blue.

"Early evening", replied a low voice, sending a disapproving rumble along with the words across the back of her neck.

The arm around her waist tightened and pulled her closer against his warm body. The pressure of his chest against her back increased a little, when he took a deep breath and even though it was rather pointless in this case, she closed her eyes anyway, when he let his breath go in a long, deep sigh that brushed against the back of her neck like a caress. It was followed by a soft kiss into her hair and an explanation.

"Because, if it is night already, that means that this day will end soon. And I don't want it to."

When his fingers found hers on top of the soft bed-sheets, she realised he knew she was smiling, even though he couldn't see it. Just like she knew, when he squeezed her hand and nuzzled her neck, that he had smiled along with her.

"Why not?", she asked.

"Because it's a good day. A very good day."

She started playing with his fingers then, feeling him smile again, feeling his eyes shut in blissful contentment, feeling how, when he sighed again, pure happiness brushed over her skin. Somehow she was glad for the darkness and the fact that she lay spooned up with her back against him. If simply *sensing* him being happy made tears run down her face, she didn't really want to know what actually *seeing* him being happy would do to her.

She feared it might be soppy, embarrassing and something that he could and would tease her with until they were old and grey. She blinked the tears away at the thought of teasing.

"Was it? Really? I mean, we were practically asleep for most of it", she reminded him.

He grinned against her neck, freed his fingers from her grasp and ran them in a soft teasing motion up her arm to her shoulder.

"It's not the quantity of time spent awake that makes a good day. It's the quality of it."

"Oh. Right. Let me see about that."

She caught his hand again and started to tap her fingertips against his wrist one by one for every item on her list.

"Feeling furious and angry at finding out I've been manipulated and tricked…"

"That was yesterday", Jane interrupted her in a defensive high voice.

"Almost dying of embarrassment on that plane…"

"Ah, technically, that was also yesterday…"

"The part on the plane _you_ were involved in. As was the part where I had to get up a few minutes later and walk past and apologise to every single passenger for probably delaying the flight indefinitely…"

"Good thing then, that you were in row 12 and not 54, huh?"

She gave him a little rough nudge with her elbow, that pushed the air out of his lungs along with a surprised huff and a laugh. Then she continued.

"… while some poor man had to dig my luggage back out of the cargo hold."

"See, that's why I never have real luggage", Jane interrupted her again. "I never pack more clothes than fit into an overnight bag I can carry _with me_. No need for digging. Or delays."

He knew she was rolling her eyes at him.

"_You_ never pack more clothes, because you actually don't _have_ more clothes."

She felt him shrug in the darkness.

"Yeeaaah…." A very reluctant "yeah", followed by a sigh. And a surrender.

"Ok. Fine. Good point. That, too."

Lisbon grinned, tapped her index-finger against his wrist once more.

"Anyway, by the time I had to grovel in front of the airline duty manager to actually _get_ my luggage back, it was already today, so that counts."

"Ok. Stop. Just to clarify. What kind of grovelling are we talking about here exactly?" Jane said in a mock jealous voice that won him another elbow nudge. And a chuckle.

"The kind where I blamed everything on you and probably blushed so much, that the man was afraid of spontaneous human combustion and ushered me on."

"Understandable. His fear of the horrible administrative mess your magical angry phoenix act would leave him with, I mean."

He kissed her shoulder, freed his hand from under her fingers and reached up to her shoulder, so he could draw her even closer to him and press a long, soft kiss behind her ear. It distracted her only for a second, before she continued.

"And it was also already today when I had to wait alone on a really uncomfortable bench outside the TSA office, being stressed out for hours, wondering if I was doing the right thing, if you had actually meant it, if this was another trick or not. Not to mention an awkward, insulting break-up over the phone and facing disciplinary action on top of it all if anyone ever finds out about the room-switch… thing."

The arm around her waist tightened. As did the one around her shoulder. It made her lose her train of thought and she almost flinched, not at his hard grip, but at sensing the distress behind it. For which there was no reason anymore. And which she needed him to understand. So she turned in his embrace, placed a soft kiss first on his nose, then on his lips, until his hands started to lose their iron grip. Then she said in a reassuring whisper:

"But aside from the bumpy start, you're right: This is a good day. A very good day. And I don't want it to end either."

It took her another flick of her tongue against his upper lip and a nudge of her nose against his, to make the smile, that she still couldn't see, reappear on his face and the tension finally flowing out of him in one long breath against her cheek. He leaned his forehead against hers. Lisbon snuggled deeper into his embrace, sighing against his cheek, when he brushed his lips against her neck. She wrapped her arms around him and slid a leg between his, careful not to touch his injured foot. He started stroking her back, dragging his fingertips in soft, lazy swirls over her skin, rubbing warmth and love and a funny feeling, she could only describe as being whole into her heart and soul. After a while, holding each other in the darkness of the late evening, Jane said.

"So? How do we spent the last hours of this rather good day then? Are you hungry?"

"A little."

"Do you want to get up and go out for dinner? The restaurant has some nice, quiet, private tables for two close to the water", Jane said.

He felt her arms tighten around him. Ah. Evidently going out was not on the menu.

"We'd have to get up to do that. You said we didn't have to leave this bed until Friday, 11 am", she said in a quiet, almost accusing voice.

He gave her cheek a nudge with his nose. She felt a small sob building up in her chest. Out of love and happiness and the random selfish stubborn determination that she was not willing to share him with the world again just yet. To let his attention shift away from her. Even if was just for a short conversation with a waiter or waitress while ordering food.

_Mine._

Outside a lonely sea-gull made a similar sound. Lisbon started to laugh.

"What?"

She ran a hand into his hair and suddenly the darkness lifted, as a soft breeze outside ushered the bank of clouds away from the horizon and the rising moon above it. Silver light streamed into the room, along with a soft, blue magical glow. The first thing the light revealed, was the soft smile on Jane's face and the fact that, even in the darkness, he had never let his gaze drift away from hers. It made her forget about breathing again for a moment. She wanted to shake her head to clear it, but didn't want to lose sight of him. When her brain eventually reminded her about breathing and talking, she said:

"Nothing. On the subject of dinner: Even though I'd love to have a real proper…"

"… and most importantly: very romantic…"

"… dinner with you, I think we might want to postpone that for a while."

"Why?"

"We'd have to get up."

He raised his eyebrows in mock concern, that drifted into his voice as well.

"Riii…ght. Not an ideal scenario, I agree with you."

She trailed a finger down his bare chest.

"And we'd have to get dressed again."

He sucked in a sharp breath of terror, then suddenly moved. Lisbon squealed in surprise, then laughed, as he pinned her down into the bed with a deep growl.

"Absolutely unacceptable under the circumstances."

"Oh, is it?", she replied with an amused smile, trailing her fingers teasingly slow down his back and beyond.

"Ab. So. Lutely."

He grinned. Felt very proud for the way he'd made it sound like he was making a point by splitting the word into three. And thus disguising the fact it was actually due to need and pleasure at feeling her hands move on his lower back.

The grin faltered as he heard her chuckle softly. She'd noticed. But then again, he thought, it was rather obvious. He should probably have concentrated on biofeedback-ing something other than breathing just now. In his defence, he hadn't needed to do that for years, but feared it was a skill he needed to learn again. Fast.

But probably not now.

Now all he wanted to do was look at her, at her face, framed by that almost magical blue and silver glow of the moonlight, the amused, but soft smile on her lips, at all the _life_ in her eyes, all the joy and surprise and hope and love in her gaze, just pouring out, without hesitation, without restraint, without fear. He'd glimpsed it across the table this morning for the first time, but she'd reigned it back in fast, before he could get a real proper look at it. Now she didn't hold back and was adding amusement to the mix, one corner of her mouth twitching, an eyebrow rising just a little, her gaze getting just a little more whole, deeper, happier, when she asked with a teasing tone.

"Oh and why is it unacceptable, then?"

He let one hand drift up along her side in an equally teasing motion. He felt her heart beat faster and grinned.

"I thought you didn't want to get up anyway?"

She smiled back at him, hands still moving over his skin. He still had trouble controlling what it did to him, but that was probably mostly due to his lack of enthusiasm in trying.

"Can't a girl change her mind?, she asked in low, soft voice.

"Has a girl changed her mind?", he asked back with a smile.

She tilted her head from side to side.

"Maybe", she lied.

When the movement stopped, he dived for her neck and dragged his lips across it with soft, quick kisses from ear down to collar-bone and mumbled against her skin.

"Pity."

"Why?"

At least he thought that word had been hidden somewhere in the sound she'd made.

"Because as you've so eloquently pointed out before, spare clothes are always a problem with me."

She grinned at him. A wide, teasing, fun grin. She ran a hand from his forehead to his ear and behind it.

"So we can't go out, because you don't have anything to wear?"

He shrugged an apology at her in mock embarrassment.

"… 'fraid so."

She sighed. Let her arms fall away from him to her sides and into the bed-sheets.

"Pity."

"Yeah", he agreed from somewhere close to her ear. Lisbon smiled and put a hand back in his hair, amazed at the small sound of pleasure she drew from him without him even noticing, when she ran her fingertips down to the nape of his neck. Suddenly she stopped. He lifted his head a little to look at her. She frowned down at him.

"Maybe it's for the better", she said with a shrug and a sigh.

"And why is that?"

"Table on the beach? Candle-light? Romantic dinner? A soft breeze coming in from the sea? Stars twinkling above? I don't think I could trust myself in that kind of scenario — especially when you are involved in it", she said with mock concern and a teasing brush of her fingers over his cheeks. He laughed, then grinned at her, his fingers softly resting against her chin.

"Ah, Lisbon, have no fear, you'd be perfectly safe with me. I told you once before, I'd never seduce you over a meal."

Suddenly the laughter was gone. They looked at each other in something close to shock across the sudden silence. Jane was still on top of her, but his body had gone rigid and he lifted himself up, until there was no longer warmth, but cool air between them. He also used the motion to break eye-contact with her, when he felt shame and guilt rushing fast and strong through his veins. He shut his eyes. Hung his head low. Tried to breathe. Shifted his weight, so a little was on his injured foot now, which responded with firing a hot bolt of pain up his leg and into his nervous system. It also brought tears to his eyes. Suddenly a hand tightened around his wrist, pushed, pleaded, until he shifted again and rolled onto his side and the pain went away.

Knowing that she'd realised that he'd done that on purpose, made him even more ashamed, but realising that she didn't want him to hurt even now, in this very moment, made him hope. And open his eyes again. She was looking at him. With concern. And pain. And fear. And just a little bit of uncertainty. It was a look, not too different from the one all these years ago, when she'd feared he might charm her off her feet one day to manipulate her into doing what he wanted her to.

_I'd never seduce you over a meal._

His words echoed in both their minds. Until Lisbon said very quietly.

"But that was part of the plan, wasn't it?"

There was no accusation in her voice. No judgement. Not even anger. Just curiosity. And something fearful, that he could not really grasp, but he sensed that it had more to do with what he was going to do now than with what he had planned or not planned to do then. It made him afraid. Very afraid. His foot twitched. Lisbon's foot was suddenly touching his calf, blocking further movement.

"Jane?"

He forced himself to open his eyes. She lay on her side, watching him, one hand flat on the bed in the space between them, close to, but not touching his hand, that lay just across a small crease in the bed-sheets. It seemed to Jane like a whole mountain range right now. One he needed to climb over if he wanted this day and every single one that followed to be a good one.

_Climbing. Awesome._

One of the things he seemed really _good_ at these days, he thought with icy sarcasm. But then he sighed, made his mind grab on to the first cold, hard rock of truth and swung himself up on it.

"Honestly?"

The ground was already dangerously far away, even after that first step.

"I don't know."

The word echoed across the invisible mountain range separating him from Lisbon.

"You don't know?"

He shrugged without meeting her eyes. Breathed a shaky breath into the night. Then said quietly.

"I was so hyped up, so scared to lose you, I would have done anything."

"Including seducing me over a meal?"

There was a hint of lightness in her voice, but he only caught it later, when he replayed the conversation in his mind.

"Including using a woman's murder to stop you from leaving. Including going to jail for breaching airport security. Including risking going to jail for whatever reason, really. So I guess… maybe. Maybe even including seducing you over a meal. As shameful as it is to admit it."

"But it wasn't the original plan?"

He shook his head.

"Not… per se. I wasn't really thinking that far ahead. Just thought that once we'd had some time alone together in a really nice place with no Pike, no Cho, no Abbott, no Fischer around… just you and me, a nice solvable little murder and a nice…"

He flinched.

"…meal…"

He didn't catch the quick lopsided grin it triggered.

"… I'd find a way to make you realise that this is where you belonged. Where you really wanted to be at the end of the day. With me. Not him."

He'd almost reached the top of the mountain by now, hands digging into the hard rock, holding on, hurling him upwards, through all the painful truths. But his strength was coming to an end, the urge to just let go and fall down into the soft clouds of white lies pulling at him from below. It would be so easy. Just to leave it there. Just to make a quick joke along the lines of "and that's when my sanity left me" or something. The bed felt cold and hard beneath his fingers, like real stone. It would be so easy. And so wrong.

Warmth. Sudden and unexpected. Curling around his fingers, forcing them to let go of the cold stony bed, but not pushing him down the mountain, but pulling him up the very last step to the top. He held on. Squeezed her hand. Then let go.

"So no. Not initially. But time was running out fast and I guess, I kind of fell for my own con in a way, with the car and the sunshine and the romantic place and the ocean and you laughing and being happy at solving that riddle and the way you'd looked at me when you thought I wasn't noticing it and then it suddenly seemed… an option. And a while later a rather… perfect one. And then along the way I kind of forgot it had been... a _plan_ at all. It just seemed... right."

He let himself fall on his back and closed his eyes.

"Which of course it wasn't. It was a stupid idea that would have led to total disaster either way."

"Very stupid", she agreed, reaching out a hand to stroke his arm, wanting to reach into his soul and whisk the pain and guilt away. She'd just wanted to know. Wanted to know what he'd been thinking at the time. If he'd really been prepared to be this cool and cold and detached and manipulative about getting her to stay, even if he had to trick her into his bed and make her cheat on her fiancé. And now she realised with a great wave of relief, that beside the practical things, like writing that letter, booking the rooms and the car and getting her there, he'd had no real clue what to do, even if he thought he had. She also realised that by now, his own horror, disgust and pain at what he might have been thinking of doing at the time, was far far greater than her own. She couldn't help looking at his foot again, remembering how he had deliberately sought the physical pain earlier. Jane. Of all people. Jane, who hated physical pain, who whined and squirmed and ran away even from an angry bumble-bee for fear of being stung.

Lisbon scooted closer to him.

"And you've had a lot of stupid ideas", she added.

He gave a huff in agreement and put his hands over his face.

"Tell me about it."

"Ok. Where do I start? There's so many good ones. Lets see. There was the time when… "

He lifted one hand from his face and cracked an eye open, staring at her in disbelief. She had aimed for another word ending in "lief", but that one was ok as well, she guessed.

"What? You told me to tell you about your stupid ideas."

The other hand went away from his face. He blinked at her. Then said almost accusingly.

"You're not angry."

"No."

"Why are you not angry?"

She gave him a long, serious look.

"Because I've already been angry at you for this stupid stunt yesterday. Really really really angry. And I never want to be this angry at you ever again."

"You had every right to be."

"Yes, I did."

She let her gaze soften, smiling at him now, a wide open smile.

"But that was yesterday."

She moved, grabbed his arms, until he turned and she could slide herself back into his embrace, pushing against him, until he was on his back and she on top of him. She pressed a kiss into the hollow of his throat. A long, soft kiss.

"And today I don't mind being seduced."

She reached up, took his face in her hands and whispered.

"Not one tiny bit."

Now it was there. The relief. Melting into a big goofy smile that was almost too big for his face. The dark pain in his eyes made way for an amused and happy sparkle. When his hands started moving, she knew they were ok again. When she heard what he said next, she knew they were more than ok.

"I have to admit, the thought of seducing you _now_ is a lot less awkward and unnerving than it was yesterday", he admitted with a grin.

She laughed, then shook her head, running a hand over his chest.

"What on earth would you have done if I'd gone for it?"

He let out a long sigh and shook his head.

"I have. Absolutely. No idea."

She kissed his neck, his cheek, his temple. He sighed.

"Probably something stupid like freezing up and bolting away in terror at the last minute, thus losing you forever."

"You wouldn't have", she said softly.

He shook his head, his voice was quiet, but firm.

"Oh yes, I would have. Because you would have thought I really didn't want you. That you meant nothing to me. That I couldn't even bring myself to touch you. To kiss you. Even if it was just a con. Even when I'd managed to do that with… someone I really didn't care about during a time I was in much worse state than I am now. I would have finally managed to make you hate me."

"I wouldn't have…"

"Yes. You would have. We both know that."

They fell silent.

She kept stroking his chest and arms, fingers tracing soft, random pattern over his skin. He could feel there was something else that was bothering her, something she felt she had no right to ask or say. Yet she had every right. To ask him anything. He gave her shoulder a soft nudge.

"What?", he asked.

"While we're on the subject… I just… I was wondering. Are you alright? I mean…now?"

He blinked at her.

"Perfectly fine. Why would you think I'm not?", he asked. She squirmed a little.

"I know circumstances are a lot different from yesterday, but I just…I know this must still have been… difficult for you."

She quoted his earlier words.

"For obvious reasons."

She was stumbling over the words now, nervous, red hectic patches forming on her cheeks. She wouldn't meet his eyes.

"I'm just wondering if this was… if this was too much too soon, if…"

"No."

His voice was quiet, slow, but very firm. As were his lips against hers a second later. When he drew away again, he ran a hand down her shoulder and the inside of her arm.

"Why would you think that?", he asked in that same quiet, soft voice. She shrugged, but could not shake the thought or the question attached to it. After a moment she said.

"Before, when we were… You were scared. At least I thought you were?"

He looked away, then tried to turn his head, but she caught his face in her hands.

"Tell me?"

He looked at her, a long look, knowing that this was — in a way — still a test. Whether it was him or her that set it up, he didn't really know. He even didn't know if it was important to her that he passed again. But it was important to both of them that he tried.

His brain fired, hurled, screamed words upon words at him.

_Just a bit of performance anxiety, I had very high standards once upon a time, you know._

_No._

_Not scared, just wondering if the door was as sound-proof as I thought._

_No!_

He closed his eyes. Took a deep breath, shut door upon door in his head, drowning out the bravado and the lies and the fear, until all that was left, was silence. And the truth. He opened his eyes again. Lisbon hadn't moved, just held his head in her hands and kept looking at him. Not impatient, not angry, not fearful or hurt. There was no flicker in the eternal green of her eyes, no twitch of her nose, her hands were steady, as was her pulse. She as waiting for him. _Again_. It was that last thought and the pang of pain it brought, that moved his lips, his tongue and his vocal cords.

"I was scared", he admitted.

A thumb brushed over his cheek in encouragement. He looked down, gave a hollow short nervous laugh.

"Terrified actually."

"Of what?"

Her voice. Soft. A little scared. But not for herself. Only for him.

"Of feeling…" His voice shook, then passed out. He shut his eyes, impatience at his own inadequacy, this stupid inability to just bloody damn MOVE, bubbling up in his stomach.

Another soft brush of a thumb, signalling that she understood that he was not avoiding the answer, but trying to find it. The anger was gone. And the words were suddenly just there. In the room. In the space between them.

"Of feeling too much… of feeling too good and guilty about it afterwards... for obvious reasons. And at the same time of not feeling enough. Of not being able to feel anything like that ever again. And of you sensing it. Both. Either. And the pain it might bring you. Both of us."

He felt her lips on his then, slow, soft, asking him to let her in. So he did. Deepened the kiss, trying to put everything he still couldn't say into a caress, into a soft brush of his hands over her sides, into holding her to him a moment later, rubbing his cheek against hers while they caught their breaths, before they kissed again, before everything was warmth and love in the still of the night. He opened his eyes again, when they broke apart, needing her to see that there was no guilt, no pain, no numbness in his soul, as long as she was with him. And by the way she looked back at him, by the way soft tears were welling up in her eyes and her hands caught his face, he knew she'd seen all he wanted her to, needed her to.

And then his gaze shifted once more and Lisbon caught her breath at the intensity of it, knowing where it would lead, wanting to go there again, feeling her skin tingle under the soft touch of his fingers, keeping his eyes locked on his until…

Until he suddenly frowned and his eyes left hers, looking straight past her towards the ceiling.

His face was still the epitome of intense.  
It has just shifted from intense desire to intense confusion.

"You've got to be kidding me", he said.

"What?", she asked, noting with a short burning burst of embarrassment that her voice carried more than a little hint of disappointment and impatience. He pointed to the ceiling.

"There's a sheep on the ceiling."

"What?"

"There is a sheep on the ceiling. There. Just next to Ursa Maior."

"What?"

"Big bear."

"I thought it was a sheep."

"The sheep is next to the bear."

She frowned at him.

"The sheep and the bear are on the ceiling?"

"Yes."

"Are you sure you don't need something to eat? Low blood-sugar can lead to..."

"Just look."

She finally turned her head and followed his line of sight.

There was a star-scape on the ceiling. Tiny neon stars everywhere above them. And right where Jane was pointing at, a single happy neon sheep, bumbling between the tiny yellow dots. There was also, at the other end of the ceiling something that looked suspiciously like the starship Enterprise, Lisbon thought.

"The wonders of this room never cease!" Jane said with a laugh, then frowned again.

"Although there are quite a few astronomical errors on that ceiling…"

Lisbon gave his nose a playful pinch.

"Nerd."

"Excuse me. I'm just pointing out that a) sheep don't belong in space and b) Cassiopeia needs to be further north."

She replaced her fingers with her nose and give him a nudge.

"And c) _you_ need to shut up."

Before he could reply, Lisbon was kissing him again and pushing him down into the bed. He grinned against her lips, which made her laugh. He used to opportunity to flip them, so he was on top again, deepening the kiss again until he drew a soft moan from her, before pulling back and asking in slightly breathless voice.

"Are you happy, Teresa?"

She reached up a hand to cup his cheek, eyes bright, skin glowing in the soft moonlight.

"Very happy."

His heart beat fast and hard inside his chest. He looked at her with dark, serious eyes.

"You know I meant every word I said about that as well. You being happy is the most important thing to me…"

She stroked his cheek, gave a tiny little sob. He grinned down at her and added.

"Even if it means starving to death in a hotel-bed."

"Idiot", she said. And kissed him again.

* * *

**A/N: Should be back to the normal writing schedule now, so next chapter will follow next weekend :) Until then: Thanks for reading this one**.


	8. Sleeping Beauty

**A/N:** Thanks so much for the reviews and favs and follows. And sorry for the delay. Now we're finally coming back to the beginning of the story at the end of this chapter, but this isn't the end of the whole story ;-) There's still a few things to do and to say before the sun rises again over the Atlantic Ocean.

* * *

There were many things Patrick Jane wanted to remember about these past two days. Big things. Like telling her he loved her. Like her telling him she felt the same way. Like kissing her for the first time. Like falling asleep with her for the first time. And the second time.

And, of course, all the amazing things that had happened in between.

But even more than that, he wanted to remember the little things: How she'd raised her eyebrows in stern amusement, when she'd said "This is no joking matter" — which told him that it somehow already was and would be for many years to come. How sure her hands had first rested on the table and then on his cheeks and later in his hands. So sure of herself. So sure of *them*. And even smaller things still: Like the smell of her scent on his skin, of his scent on her skin. The sensation of her breath brushing soft and slow against his neck. The feeling of her hands in his hair. The sound of that adorable giggle.

And the way she'd said his name.

That was the biggest small memory he wanted to keep forever, to place it safely somewhere along with three words whispered against his heart and the sight of that first big burst of happiness washing over her much earlier, when they'd still been a table apart.

He pressed a soft kiss into her hair and was rewarded with a delightful purring sound and her snuggling even deeper into his embrace. He bit down a chuckle, trying not to wake her and added that little adorable noise to the list of things he needed to remember forever.

"I think that requires a big new extension to the memory palace, don't you?", he whispered into her hair.

Her answer was to push her nose into his chest and tighten her grip on his shoulder a little.

Jane took that as a yes.

So he closed his eyes and walked with determination and a spring in his step into the bustling noise of the fair, strode past a ferris-wheel and a ghost-train and finally slipped into a narrow gap between the booth of a Korean fortune-teller and a stall selling blue ice-cream. Then he stopped. Behind him was the day and the light and the noise and life of the fair. In front of him was the night. And a dark, wide meadow. On it, arranged in a big circle, stood various trailers and mobile homes. They ranged in size and age from a small old rusty round-shaped thing with a slightly unhinged door to a modern two-story-high-tech-villa on wheels. All of them lay in complete, black, utter darkness. Over here, in the space behind the music and the magic and the laughter and the fun, it had been dark for many years. It was a quiet, forgotten place where the only movement came from shadows diving and slithering across the grass like angry snakes.

Jane stood beside a mental representation of his current mobile home and looked up as deep black turned into dark blue and a full moon suddenly popped up above the trailers. Then, warm, golden light started chasing the dark angry shadows away.

The source of the light was an old-fashioned merry-go-round that had suddenly appeared in the middle of the meadow. Soft music was playing and hundreds of small lightbulbs glimmered happily along with the tune. But something was missing: No seats were mounted on the golden posts on the circular wooden platform. Jane stepped onto the platform and touched the first golden post. Suddenly there was a wooden pony, a brown, happy shaggy thing wearing a bright red saddle. He touched the next post and a seat in the shape of an ice-cream-cone appeared, then a cup, an apple, a sports car and a sea-shell. He trailed his right hand behind him and brushed his fingers against the cool metal of the next three posts. A plane, a big blue bird - species unknown - and a pink flamingo shimmered into existence. When he stepped off the platform again, the merry-go-round started moving, taking on board all the sweet big and little memories of Lisbon he'd until now never dared to put into his long-term-memory.

For fear that one day, they would bring pain instead of comfort.

Like so many other memories had.

He gazed back for a moment at the big, dark, luxurious modern trailer. He blinked. The light from the merry-go-round had revealed a pink tricycle in front of it. And suddenly, for the first time in over a decade, a light was on inside the trailer. He stood watching for a moment, but didn't feel the urge to step closer or go in. Instead, he just smiled, put his hands into the pockets of his jacket and closed his eyes.

When he opened them again, he was back in the hotel room and greeted by a sight, he knew he needed to store in his memory-palace as well. And somehow, as he was filing away every tiny detail of it, he already suspected that there would be countless future subtle variations, which he needed to collect as well.

He grinned. Next time he visited his memory-palace, he was going to add yet another attraction to the fair.

_The castle of sleeping beauty._

Or something to that effect.

His grin relaxed into a soft smile as he continued to watch her. Before he could stop himself, he reached out a hand. A strand of hair had fallen into her face and he brushed it away with a light caress, still careful not to wake her. He'd only dozed off for a few minutes, but Lisbon had already been asleep again for the better part of an hour.

Before that, they had in the end opted for room-service, thus avoiding starvation as well as getting up and/or completely dressed again. After a light and quiet dinner which had consisted of little food, a little more drink and a lot of stupid grinning, staring at each other without blinking and an almost stunned silence only broken by the occasional sigh, Lisbon had finally taken his empty plate out of his hand. But when her fingers had brushed against his wrist and their eyes locked, she'd suddenly stopped moving, frozen like a statue.

Like the very sexy cousin of the Savannah Bird Girl.

He hadn't moved either. For a long while. Probably had even stopped breathing, which would have explained the funny feeling in his chest. Judging by the soft giggle, that had finally propelled her back into motion, _she_ hadn't been able to spot any resemblance between him and a beautiful piece of art like for instance Michelangelo's David.

Which was ok, since he had a feeling that the image he presented right now, belonged more to contemporary pop culture than famous classical art, since the only thing he probably _did_ resemble right now was the Chesire cat (1951 Disney version).

Lisbon had moved towards him then, slid her arms under his and up to his shoulders, holding on tight, almost possessively for a moment, fingers digging gently into his skin, her face pressed into the hollow of his throat. Then her arms had relaxed a little and she had splayed her hands across his shoulders, leaned up, nudged his nose softly and suddenly asked him to tell her about his time on the island. Which he had been really reluctant to do, because a) it had seemed a dull and boring story in retrospect, which b) he feared would put her to sleep within five minutes.

In the end, he turned out to be wrong about b) though: She was out like a light after 4 minutes and 5 seconds.

He grinned, thinking about the hundred ways he could tease her about this when she woke up again.

For now he was content with just watching her sleep, her breathing in tune with the noise from the ocean outside and her chest rising and falling against his. There was so much happiness in her face, so much lightness and joy as well as a sense of deep rest and relaxation. As if she hadn't slept this well for years.

Which she probably really hadn't.

Even though this was one avenue of teasing he would definitely pursue later, he knew that she hadn't fallen asleep again due to exhaustion caused by, well, … recent physical activities. She'd nodded off, because she felt she could. Felt safe enough to allow herself much needed emotional rest.

Which she needed because of him.

Or rather: Because of finally and unexpectedly being free of all of the heavy emotional baggage which he'd made her drag around for years and halfway across the country — up to and including Washington. Of all places.

Emotional baggage. That was the right term, he thought. Especially considering that they'd dumped some of it at an airport and could hopefully leave most of it behind in this nice kitschy hotel room. They only needed to carry a few small pieces home with them — which they could unpack at a later date.

Dark clouds moved in front of the moon outside the bay doors. Jane reached out and stroked her cheek again. This time there was no adventurous strand of hair to brush out of her face, but he let his fingertips wander over her cheek nevertheless, needing to touch her, to feel that soft smile on her face, when he lost sight of it, as the moonlight suddenly left the room and darkness reigned once more.

With it, a very different flock of dark clouds arrived and moved silently into Jane's mind, too fast for him to block them, escape them or ignore them. Outside, the moon was imprisoned behind a dark black wall of mist. Inside, the sudden darkness broke into Jane's soul like a mighty wave upon a rock. It steered his thoughts towards the pain and sadness he'd burdened Lisbon with during their old life, towards the loneliness, the longing, the painful hope and constant doubt she had to endure during their years apart and most of all towards the utter despair and disappointment she had been faced with, when they'd stood side by side again and yet a world apart. How much pain and sadness had been inside her heart, that she'd felt she was better off with a man she hardly knew and never trusted? That she let him into her bed, but not into her heart? Her words from before, spoken in the heat of passion, came back to him and made his throat tighten. He swallowed hard against the pain.

_"I've been careful with Marcus."_

Or course there could be a simple explanation for that, but Jane doubted there was a medical reason. Pike was an idiot. But he wasn't stupid. Or careless. No. This was Lisbon not trusting the man she had invited into her bed, not wanting to let him all the way in, needing to keep a distance between them. Without even knowing that she did. He could picture her, being annoyed and impatient with herself at the time, irritated and confused by her own — seemingly — irrational need for protection. She hadn't trusted Pike. But still felt it was better, safer, in the end, to sleep with a man she didn't trust and who didn't know her at all, than to have dinner or just a laugh or a conversation with a man she did trust with all her heart and who knew her better than anyone else.

He strained to see her face in the darkness.  
Failed.  
Swallowed again.

A conversation. A real conversation. Had they even had one of those since he'd come back? He tried to remember, but abandoned the exercise when the outcome became clear about 30 percent in.

He closed his eyes, trying to make the fact that he was not able to see her his choice. But failed. Again.

So did he actually? Know her better than anyone else? He knew what she was going to do 9.9 times out of ten, that was still true — despite recent events. But he still knew almost nothing about her life during the past two years. He'd asked a few times, but she had been evasive and he'd secretly been glad and relieved about it, knowing that each tale, each story, each answer would fuel the painful heat of guilt inside of him.

And so he hadn't pressed the issue, had not pressed any issue really, had avoided every real fight, every real argument, had retreated to a safe convenient place, where he could look at her, long for her, stand beside her and feel whole and safe and back at home, but where he didn't have to talk to her. Face her. And thus himself. And all the possible accusations. And all the guilt. And all the regret.

_Selfish. Stupid. Coward._

She suddenly moved a hand from his shoulder to the nape of his neck in a soft caress and rubbed her cheek - along with a sigh and a soft smile - across his chest.

He gritted his teeth, so the tsunami of self-loathing rushing up his spine, could not make itself heard in a gasp of pain. He did not deserve this. He did not deserve her, didn't deserve the trust and love that made her instinctively notice his discomfort at once, without knowing why, without _needing_ to know what it was about, just needing to comfort him, to reach out for him, to protect him, even from a state of deep, dreamless sleep.

He would have been able to write a whole dissertation on the reasons for and the level of her discomfort and pain for _months_. While he had been wide awake and fairly conscious the whole time. And still he had't even _tried_ to ease her pain. To comfort her.

Suddenly his hand on her back felt cold and wrong, like it had no right to be there. Like it would burn her skin and hurt her. So he removed it. Removed his second hand from her hair. Removed himself from her.

And from the bed.

He stood there. Frozen. Like a statue.  
But not like any statue Michelangelo would have created.  
And not like any Disney character either, for that matter.

The clouds outside moved on with a reluctant shudder and the moon appeared back on the night sky. Silver moonlight broke free and rushed back across the waves and the sea and the night into the room, flooding the floor and the bed and washing over Lisbon with a soft flicker of welcome.

Jane felt the moonlight on his back, but his face, heart and soul were still lost in darkness. He looked down on her sleeping form, which was once more enveloped by an almost magical glow, watched her reach out, searching for him between the shadows and the moonlight. When she grabbed the bed-sheets and her fists closed around the fabric, it felt as if they were closing around his chest, pushing all air from his lungs and making it impossible for him to breathe. Not that he wanted to. Not breathing was fine with him. He felt like dying anyway.

He had not deserved her before.

And staring at her hands clutching the sheets in mild distress at the sudden loss of his warmth and embrace, he realised that he still didn't deserve her now.

He was letting her down.  
Again.

The pain that thought carried, made him reach out a hand, across the darkness and the night, wanting nothing more than to climb back into bed, to bury his face in her neck, to embrace her, hold her, kiss her until she woke, so he could sigh in relief against her skin as her hands and lips brushed all the bad thoughts and the doubt and the regret away.

And then a thought occurred to him.  
And he dropped his hand again.

He was not letting her down by getting up.  
But he would by lying — falling — back down.

And so he wrestled with his thoughts and his guilt and his regrets until they were firmly in his grasp and dragged them along with a fierce determination, as he limped first towards the bay-doors and then out into the night.

* * *

_**A/N:** I know this chapter was a bit short, but it wanted to end here, so I didn't argue with it. But Friday is a bank holiday, so this means: Unlimited writing time for 3 whole days, so I can promise a rather swift update. ;-)_


	9. Walking towards the Horizon

**A/N:** We're back at the beginning now and that means dreams and memories and the ocean beyond the bay-doors. Towards the end we're also back in slightly M-rated territory. You have been warned (and I have no idea where that came from, but won't complain about it ;-). Thank you for sticking with this story, that has somehow become so much more than the little tag I've meant to write.

* * *

Where the hell had he wandered off to in the middle of the night?  
And where the hell were her blouse and her jeans?

Teresa Lisbon knelt on her hands and knees on the bed, close to the edge, knowing fully well, that she probably looked like a distressed Labrador searching for its favourite toy. Which meant it was highly likely that Jane would chose this precise moment to re-enter the room through the open bay-doors and would be presented with a very clear and unobstructed view of her backside — and little else.

Which was good.

It might distract him long enough for her to spin around and pounce on him.

And it wasn't going to be a sexy kind of pounce — no matter how much the sight of him staring at her might distract her and dull her anger.

And she was angry. Because she'd woken up confused and feeling guilty and upset and the only reason for that was, that he hadn't been there. Because if he _had_ been there, she would have known _at once_ that her dream was a memory. A good one. She would have smiled at him in relief. Watched him sleep for a while. Stroked his face. And gone back to sleep herself, happy and content.

She would not have panicked at the thought that all of this might just have been another dream.  
Not despaired at the thought that the dream of a touch from one man, still felt better than a real caress from another.  
And she would not felt guilty like hell for the 24th time because of it.

She was angry, because she'd never wanted to wake up like this again: With that awful, sharp, tearing, ripping, searing pain of loss that left her heart and body heavy and numb and that usually took her almost all day to shake.

The first time it had latched on to her was about two weeks after Jane had left.  
It had been with her ever since.

She'd dreaded it each time she'd fallen asleep, praying, hoping that it wouldn't return the next morning. After a year she had finally accepted with a dull feeling of resignation that it was here to stay. It was the price she had to pay for keeping Jane with her in her dreams.

The pain had been a little less intense once he was part of her daytime-world again, but the void it had left, had been quickly filled first with embarrassment and then with sadness at knowing that she needed to let the dream go. Let him go. And be left with nothing more than a familiar stranger, who'd always be close by, but never be close to her.

Once she'd been with Marcus, the sadness had gone as had a little more of the pain, but guilt had taken their place swiftly and efficiently. Guilt at sometimes still dreaming of one man and waking up next to another.

And she was angry, because the memory of the pain brought something else back. Something she had not even realised she'd finally managed to shake within the last 24 hours.

Resignation. The unchallenged, dull acceptance of all the things post-CBI-life had thrown at her. The feeling that all this pain had been for nothing in the end. Like so many things she had sacrificed and hoped and fought for all her life. The bitter knowledge that in the end no matter how hard she'd tried to change and adjust the course of her life's journey, in the end she always ended up alone, stranded in the middle of a sea of loneliness.

Or in Washington.

Which was basically the same thing.

She remembered how on a lonely Christmas up there, she had thought of all the people she had fought for and helped, everyone she'd protected, loved and cared for and how, once they were back — or in case of her brothers standing — on their own two feet, they had all left her behind, exhausted and completely on her own, while they moved on, striding towards happiness and life with a laugh and a wink.

She remembered how happy she had been when Rigsby and Van Pelt had visited her. How she'd felt whole and home again for a few minutes, thinking of it as a family reunion. And how heavy her heart grew, once she realised it was not much more than a social call to them. Realising they had moved on, truly moved on, when she'd asked Wayne if he missed the CBI and he'd shaken his head at once. Just a short while later they'd left in a hurry, their thoughts already back with their own family, their own lives.

She remembered that she hadn't really expected Cho to keep in touch, simply because, well, this was Cho. But one day she'd spoken to the FBI about a case and the agent had mentioned his name and she'd said they used to work together and the agent said "Really? He never mentioned you." — it had hurt. Even though it was probably nothing more than a case of Cho just being Cho. After all, he had sent her a Christmas card. And actually written more than his name inside it.

Jane had sent her a Christmas card as well. He had not written his name on it, but it had contained a lot more words than Cho's and had been the best present she could have hoped for. It had made her cry and laugh for the better part of an hour, the mixture of longing and loneliness and happiness and despair almost too much to bear.

Later she'd stood at the window looking out into the cold and the snow and the grey twilight of the late afternoon and when she'd raised the card up to her face once more, she'd caught a scent that was all sunshine and sea and warmth and light and she knew it should have triggered something in her, something she felt was there, somewhere deep inside her. But she was aware of it only for a second. And then everything was just grey twilight and a strange feeling of resignation and tiredness that kept her standing motionless in front of the window until twilight turned into darkness.

In the end she'd fallen asleep on the couch drunk and sad. She hadn't dreamt of Jane that night. The hangover was gone within a day. The heavy feeling of resignation and tiredness was still there at New Year's. And Easter. By the beginning of summer she didn't even notice it anymore. When she cleaned up her office on Thanksgiving she threw her application letter for a detective's job with Seattle PD into the bin.

There was no point in posting it anymore.  
It had sat on her desk for three months already.

She stared down at the floor now, head hanging low, her legs and arms feeling heavy, the returning familiar feeling of resignation pushing against her back, making gravity suddenly seem unbearable, while the soft night breeze sweeping through the open bay-doors into the room, seemed to whisper to her, tempt her to just give in and crawl back into bed, and let sleep and the man of her dreams comfort her.

_Open bay-doors._  
_Dreams._  
_Jane._

That brought back the anger. And a question. The anger made her move. The question made her peer down from the bed and scan the floor.

And the resignation and all the memories attached to it faded until it was nothing more than a dull, small, far away pain in the back of her head.

When her eyes caught sight of Jane's shirt and slacks on the floor, some of the anger made way for a mixture of curiosity, slight annoyance and relief. If his shirt _and_ his trousers were still here, he couldn't have gone far, so he was probably just outside on the… balcony? Beach? She blinked towards the bay-doors, aware that she had actually no idea what lay behind them.

And then the anger left her, completely. She smiled and shook her head.

Almost eight hours of sleep.  
All the mind-blowing things that had happened.  
And food.

The sum of which meant, that Jane had probably gone up the walls with pent up excited mental energy, once she'd dozed off again.

She really shouldn't blame him that in that state of mind, checking out a mysterious balcony behind locked doors might have been a little more tempting than simply watching her snore into his chest for an hour.

She slid off the bed. Right now she was only wearing her underwear and her black top. She snatched up Jane's shirt and finally spotted her jeans on the floor, but decided in the end to leave it there. It was quiet outside and dark and his shirt covered enough of her thighs, so she was at least close to being decently dressed.

Especially compared to him.

She padded towards the bay-doors and stuck her head out into the night.

And that was when Teresa Lisbon forgot all about Washington and Pike and all the three letter law enforcement agencies. Just for a moment, she even forgot about Jane. After half a minute her brain was able to form the word "wow" in her head, but anything more elaborate probably had to wait until sunrise.

Beyond the bay doors lay neither balcony nor beach.

There was only the stars and the sea and a long wooden deck leading towards both. On either side the deck was lined and protected from rough sea and eyes alike by small artificial islands covered with a variety of palms and exotic plants, in which tiny golden lights flickered like happy fireflies, inviting her out onto the deck, and leading the way along the wooden platform far out towards the horizon.

Lisbon stepped out of the room and into the night. The wood felt warm and soft beneath the soles of her bare feet. She went to the edge and crouched down, fingers reaching beyond the wood and into cool water. She turned back towards the bay-doors and raised her eyebrows. Hotels were a bit like something from Dr. Who. Always seemingly bigger on the inside and full of doors and corridors that made you lose all sense of direction. She'd assumed the building was set further inland and much wider, had assumed a second or a third corridor might run along theirs. But it seemed the building was rather narrow at this side, consisted of only a ground floor and ended not on the beach, but just beyond the water's edge. It also seemed their room was the only one at this end. And thus the only one with direct access to the ocean. It also meant the deck was practically out of sight of every other room, while the artificial islands blocked any view from the beach or the water. They had, in essence, a private stretch of Atlantic Ocean all to themselves.

She stood up and took a few steps out onto the deck, then she stopped again, staring in awe at the sky above her, all dark blue and full of stars. High above the horizon, the full moon shone down on the sea, casting silver sparkles over the surface of the water.

Then her gaze went back down, following the wooden path from the bay-doors out towards the ocean. At the far end of the deck, where islands and wood ended and the water began, stood a silent figure, moonlight catching in his hair and flowing over his bare shoulders and down his back and arms.

Lisbon couldn't help staring and suspected that even if she had still been angry, any kind of pouncing on him would probably have turned into the sexy kind after all.

It took her a moment to trust her sense of balance enough again to take a step forward and she couldn't suppress a small sigh of relief, when her foot touched solid wood again. For a second she'd feared she'd just keel over and tumble unceremoniously into the sea.

Even though her anger and distress was gone, she didn't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing that he'd swept her off her feet after all.

Her feet made barely any sound on the warm wood. The night was quiet, except for the constant whisper of the big waves, crashing against the shore and the small island and the quiet bubble of much smaller waves licking at the edges of the deck. Lisbon tried to catch the sounds of the land behind her — cars, laughter, sirens,TVs on maximum volume — but the building and the islands were a solid wall against the urban white noise, so all she heard was the waves and the sea. All she saw ahead of her, was the stars and the ocean.

And Jane.

She was about to call out to him, not wanting to startle him, but her mouth fell shut again without a word leaving it.

He had turned just a little and lowered his head to look down at his foot. Or the darkness beyond the edge of the deck. Lisbon wasn't sure and it really didn't matter where he was looking anyway.

Because with a turn of the head, he had turned thoughts of sexy pouncing under a romantic full moon into cold, gut-wrenching fear in the darkness of the night.

She stared at his face, which was stained with regret and pain. For a moment she thought she'd lose her balance after all. For another moment she thought she wouldn't care if she did.

Because for one long, very long minute she shuddered, screamed, cried, howled inside at the dreadful thought that he might feel guilty about this after all, might regret this, his earlier resolve to be with her, to love her, a result of panic at losing the only person he had learned to trust. The only person he had left in his life.

She looked at him again. And the screams and howls and cries within her died down and she banished what was left of it from her soul and hurled it out into the night along with a forced, almost painful sigh.

She knew what his regret looked like, knew every line of guilt and shame, every shadow, every deep line, scar-like etched into his face. She knew the dark haunted look in his eyes, that seldom showed in daylight, but was always there when his face was in shadow, in darkness.

Oh yes, she knew what his regret looked like, especially at night, when he thought no one was watching him or that he was save under the cover of darkness.

And this was not the look she knew so well. This was pain of a different kind. She took another step towards him. Then another, her eyes never leaving his face, searching it, checking every shadow and every line. And then he looked up at the stars and the moon and sighed and she knew.

This was not pain for things lost, but for things missed out on. Not for what was, but for what could have been.

And she knew that, because she'd seen that exact same look before. On a pale ghostly face caught by light and shadow in the glass of a car-window, trapped in a mirror or dancing over the surface of a Christmas ornament.

Her own face.

And for another long moment — and even though it made her feel a little guilty — she was glad she saw that look on his face now, glad, because it told her, in no uncertain terms, that he'd felt the same pain she had.

And that meant, that even though it had felt like it for two years and a couple of months, she had never really lost him after all.

Just temporarily mislaid, maybe.

A bold little wave threw itself onto the deck and licked at her foot, leaving behind a startling cool sensation that snapped her out of her thoughts.

And brought on another.

She raised her eye-brows in concerned disapproval as she realised Jane was standing on both his feet. She was about to address him for the second time since they'd stepped out of the room.

And didn't.

When her gaze had shifted back to his face again, the pain and the regret had gone. What was left was a mixture between fierce determination and fear. He'd clearly made a decision. Then that expression was gone and she knew he had finally realised she was out here with him, when a smile spread back over his face. But he didn't turn around to greet her, just raised his head, to look back up at the moon and the stars and the sea.

Lisbon started to move, taking a few last steps towards him, her own emotions shifting along with his, thoughts, memories, both sad and happy, drifting out into the sea and the night, until there was nothing but_ them._ And a deep sense of peace.

And a growing sense of something not quite like peace.  
But equally welcome.

When she reached him, she wrapped her arms around him from behind and pressed a long soft kiss between his shoulder-blades. When he covered her arms with his, his fingers seeking hers, she closed her eyes for a moment and pressed her face and her body into his back, inhaling deeply the scent that was all Jane and the ocean and herself.

She thought her stomach started to feel funny again.

When Jane suddenly turned, and, without saying a word, slid a hand into her hair and cupped her face with the other, thought turned to conviction.

When he kissed her, deep and hard and with pure want and longing, when his hand slid from her cheek along her side and first under his shirt and then under her top, when she kissed him back, hands roaming over his bare chest, brushing away the soft spray of ocean water covering his skin, she thought "funny" did not really cover the feeling inside of her anymore.

He suddenly pulled back, not letting go, but just far enough to breathe out a few words between soft, short kisses to her lips, her cheeks, her nose and her neck.

"You… do… realise.. we're… practically… close… to… breaking… the…law…"

She smiled against his lips, ran a finger slowly down his chest.

"I was close to breaking something else when I woke up and you were gone", she said, very proud that it was a) a whole sentence and b) the one she had planned to say and not the one that was actually on her mind.

Telling him "This is amazing, please don't ever stop doing that" would have sent quite the wrong message in the context of this conversation.

He stopped the kissing for a second to look at her. A long serious look.

"I'm sorry. I just… didn't want to wake you."

She sensed there was more to it, but when his hand started moving again under her shirt and the long serious look turned into a long not so serious one, she knew that whatever it was, it could wait. Like everything else.

"Next time, wake me", she said against his lips. "There are far more important things than sleep."

"Hm… like dancing on the edge of illegal action", he replied, nuzzling her neck and drawing a long sigh from her, when his hands started exploring the skin on her abdomen, brushing teasingly up and down, almost making her say something stupid again.

But judging from the grin she felt against the hollow of her throat, he'd gotten the message — _stop teasing and just go for it_ — anyway. She only hoped he'd gotten what it was referring to as well.

His hands moved.

_Oh. Yeah. He got it. Good._

She brushed a hand over his boxers, feeling him moan against her neck. When he started to slide his shirt off her shoulder, she stopped him. As much fun as it was and as much as she hated to admit it — and as curious as it was, that he should be the one to mention it and not her — he was kind of right.

"Wait. This is Florida. Sex on the beach is really illegal here."

He grinned against her shoulder, kissed it. Then replied.

"We are not on the beach."

Her hand in his hair tightened when his lips moved lower.

"But we're not in international waters yet, either", she replied, impressed with herself that it was a sentence and not a moan and that she hadn't given into the urge to push her face into his neck and him down onto the deck.

Jane looked up from somewhere close to her breasts.

"Does that mean we have to arrest ourselves afterwards then?"

She looked down at him, brushed a curl out of his forehead and laughed at the adorable expression on his face.

"Probably."

She pulled him up and kissed him. After half a minute he drew back with a questioning frown.

"But we're federal employees. So we are bound by federal law, right? Is there a federal law about two very consenting adults making love on a private wooden deck out in the Atlantic Ocean at night?"

"I… really… don't… know."

Maybe she did, but he was doing that thing again that made thinking and remembering almost impossible.

He lowered himself to his knees in front of her, pushed her shirt up just a little so he could kiss his way across her abdomen, his hands running up and down her thighs now. She almost lost her balance and he held her tight for a moment, then dragged his lips up her abdomen, his nose pushing her shirt further up. Her hands were now in his hair. She wasn't sure if she was holding on to him or holding him in place. Not that it mattered. He chuckled against her skin.

"I'm shocked, Lisbon, really. How do you plan on enforcing the law if you don't know what the law is?"

"Sorry… I deal in serious crime… decency laws are not my field of expertise… really…"

Jane tugged on the sleeve of his shirt now and pulled her gently down. Once she was sitting on the deck next to him, Lisbon suddenly found herself on the other side of a sexy kind of pounce — and then beneath his strong body.

Good, at least we're really out of sight down here, she thought.

"Hm…" Jane said, trying again to get her out of his shirt.

"It's probably a good idea to brush up on the various state laws regarding … the regulation of adult outdoor activities."

"Why?"

He shrugged into her shoulder, then kissed it, then looked at her with a grin.

"Obviously, we'll continue to travel all over the country, so, it would be … you know… useful to know. So I don't end up in a legally compromising situation like this again."

"And what situation is that exactly?"

Lisbon gasped, when he shifted his weight above her, brushed his body against hers, his elbows resting on the deck, his hands touching the sides of her neck, thumbs brushing over her flushed cheeks. She opened her eyes, when she felt his intense gaze on her. The fear and determination from before where burning bright in his eyes now.

"One in which I can't wait another second to kiss you, to hold you, to touch you, to let you know, to let you _feel_ how much I love you. One in which I won't wait another second to start at least trying to make up for all the times I didn't. Kiss you. Touch you. Let you know I loved you. For all the times I wasn't…"

His voice broke along with a wave against the edge of the deck. There were tears in his eyes now. Or maybe it was just a reflection of the tears in her eyes. Or a reflection of the shimmering surface of the moonlit sea.

She took his face in her hands and smiled at him, her heart and body and mind so happy and free and light, she was glad he was keeping her down on the ground with his. Then she drew him down for a soft, light, tender kiss and whispered against his lips.

"Lucky then, that we are out of sight on private property and not on a public beach."

* * *

**A/N:** This took almost all day to write, so will fix any typos I've missed tomorrow ;-)


	10. Illegal Activities

**A/N:** So this is chapter.. uh.. ten? How did that happen? This was supposed to be a small *tag*. Also: Sorry for the delay, had to clear my head for a few days. Short warning: We're still in more than slightly M-ish territory for most of this chapter, so you might want to skip it, if that isn't your cup of tea ;-)

* * *

It was a sound, so small, so soft and yet so deep, hidden inside a long, hot, raspy breath against her skin, that pushed through heat and desire and pleasure right into her soul and almost took her over the edge. She didn't want to let go yet, didn't want the hot, liquid pleasure of release wash away the precious memory of that sound, that somehow, tiny and indescribable as it was, pulsed like thunder in her heart, sang softly in her veins and finally settled down as a quiet echo deep inside her soul. It made her complete in a way, she'd never felt before and even though it wasn't a word, it was the perfect, the only, description for all the amazing things she felt, but had no idea how to express or release or share.

Jane had, though. Not with a touch or a word or a look, but with a simple breath, a soft brush of sound against her ear.

She pressed her forehead against his, fighting against the wild desire that screamed at her to let go, wanting to hold on to that much deeper feeling that the tiny sound had stirred up in her, just for a while longer. A soft whimper escaped her lips then and through the heat and the desire and the pleasure, she felt Jane pulling her gently back from the edge, when the movement of his hips, his hands, and his lips first slowed and then stopped and he just held her against his chest, his hard breath the only caress left on her hot skin. After a moment, she opened her eyes, slid a hand out of his hair and to the side of his face, then smiled and brushed a thumb in a soft, tender, thankful caress over his lips, hoping and succeeding in drawing another quiet, but deep sound from him. She felt him shiver beneath her with the need to start moving again inside of her and so she kissed him. A soft, slow, tender kiss that he returned just as soft and slow and tender. When it ended and she lifted her head, she thought he wanted to say something, thought she wanted to say something as well, but then, when he opened his eyes, all thoughts were lost. Except one.

The realisation that beneath the sparkles of dancing moonlight, past the pools of light green and deep blue and grey, past the intensity and the burning heat and desire, it felt like she was looking directly into Patrick Jane's soul. And at her own reflection inside of it.

For a moment, time stood still.  
As did Teresa Lisbon's respiratory system.

It kicked back in a few seconds later with a clearly audible gasp, when Jane started moving again, pulling them away from another kind of edge and pushing them back into hot, delicious pleasure. They found a gentle rhythm, that was in somehow in perfect synch with the waves, that were pushing in from the dark night-time sea now, gentle but determined, breaking high against the jetty with a soft sigh, then drawing back in a slow, almost reluctant motion, before rolling back in with gentle force. Lisbon shut her eyes, gave a small moan of pleasure and threw back her head, when on top of everything else, she felt the sudden amazing tingling sensation of tiny drops of cool water, the cold misty spray from the ocean all around them, ghosting over the hot skin on her arms and face. When she opened her eyes again, Jane's were still firmly locked on her. Gentle fingers now brushed a strand of hair out of her face, traced the line of her jaw, then slid to her neck and downwards along her spine. And when first a soft whisper of her name and then his lips brushed against her ear and he pulled her into a tight embrace once more, she closed her eyes again and, feeling him suddenly thrust up urgent and hot and hard and deep, kissed him equally hard and hot and deep and at the not so soft and quiet, but equally emotional sound he made at the back of his throat then, she finally let go.

When, what felt like a long time later, the last hot tingles of pleasure washed out of him with a long, hard sigh, he knew conscious thought and feeling were about to roll back in. He also knew that they would probably be too intense and deep to cope with right now. In a best "worst case scenario" he saw himself mumbling something embarrassingly cheesy, silly, slightly incoherent and way, way, way to early to be taken seriously by either of them. In a worst "worst case scenario" he saw himself going into emotional meltdown and saw the distress it would cause her, not knowing why he broke down and how to deal with it.

Way too early. For both scenarios.

The thought sent a shiver along his spine and his hands under his shirt and across Lisbon's back, rubbing soothing circles across her skin, somehow trying to calm both of them down.

Just to be on the safe side, Jane forced his thoughts to go further back. Away from that intense last image of her and back to an earlier one.

One that somehow led to a very male thought. It wasn't quite the same thought as the first time, but it manifested itself in the real world in the same way: With a grin. He knew that if she saw him grinning at her like a proud Neanderthal again, she'd probably punch his lights out. Or worse. So he kept a small, happy smile on his face for now. Which wasn't really hard to do.

It was just a precaution, because her eyes were still closed and since her nose was buried in his chest, she wouldn't have been able to see that grin on his face anyway. But he suspected that by now she might be able to sense its presence nevertheless.

He kept moving his fingers in gentle, soothing circles over her back and closed his eyes at the nice feeling of his palms and fingertips against her soft, hot skin, while the back of his hand brushed against the cool fabric of his shirt.

_His shirt._

His new emergency biofeedback program kicked in smoothly, but took up so much mental energy that he couldn't prevent the smile turning into a grin after all.

_Her wearing his shirt._  
_And pretty much nothing else._

Since she'd been very reluctant to get out of his shirt before, he had, in the end, opted for the removal of a different piece of clothing. Which had been a very wise decision.

His grin widened as he remembered the astonished look on her face, when, after a long, teasing kiss, he'd suddenly tossed her black top over his shoulder. He had grinned down at her then, a little proud and mischievous and smug, when she couldn't figure out how he'd done it. When he suddenly found himself on his back and beneath her without knowing how _she_ had done that, that same grin had appeared on her face. His had vanished then, when she'd moved, slowly straddling him, his open shirt revealing her beautiful naked body to him and him alone, a sight so sexy, so beautiful in the magical silver light of the full moon, it had taken his breath away and made him dizzy with desire.

He lost the memory for a moment, when she made a small disapproving sound. It took him a second to realise he'd stopped stroking her back.

"Sorry", he mumbled and craned his neck, so he could press a soothing kiss into her hair. He felt her smile against his skin, when he started to stroke her back again. A soft, warm, peaceful smile, just above his heart.

He felt it melting into his skin and closed his eyes again, remembering the incredible feeling of intense, raw, happy and guilt-free desire at seeing her like this, remembering how she'd started moving on top of him, sending wave after wave of hot pleasure into him, drawing sounds from him he had no idea he was still capable of making. He remembered how he couldn't stop looking at her, rising above him, so beautiful beneath the full moon and the stars, magical like a mermaid or a water-nymph. His eyes had roamed over her naked body, drinking in the sight until he had caught her gaze and want shifted into need and longing and suddenly his heart had ached, because she felt too far away and he'd reached out for her, pulling her down against him, sighing in relief, as her warm body melted into his, as her breath brushed along his neck and a hand ran into his hair, while the other stroked the nape of his neck. Emotions too strong and intense to keep inside had burst from him then in a hard breath against her ear.

Stripped of all feeling and memory and hopes and dreams it would not have been a sound after all, but a word.

_Home._

And at the memory of that sound, the memory of that last look drifted into his thoughts after all. That look, when the world had turned into an emerald moonlit sea and he'd drowned in her eyes, pulled down beneath the reflections of the moonlit water, beneath eternal green and love and hope and dreams, deep into her soul. Where she wanted him to be. Needed him to be. And as he gently drew back out of her soul, he saw that it was her falling now, her eyes shining bright and intense, her gaze locked with his, going deeper and deeper. He let her in and when he felt her so close, so very close, that it was almost too much to process, his body had taken over control again and brought them both back to the surface, to kisses and caresses under the full moon and the stars.

And, in the end, back to the hard and quite uncomfortable wooden surface he was still lying on.

A muscle tensing in pain in his left shoulder snapped him out of his thoughts, thus thankfully preventing both insane babbling and/or an emotional meltdown. It also made him shift a little. Lisbon shifted as well and tried to get up. His arms tightened around her back in one swift motion and he shook his head.

"Don't…"

He barely recognised his own voice and cleared his throat, then tried again.

"Just… a bit longer."

"Need time to catch your breath?", she said, lifting her head to look at him and give him a teasing smile, which was supposed to distract him from the fact that her eyes were full of unshed happy tears. He curled his hands around her upper arms and coaxed her into moving a bit, so he could lean up, take her face in his hands and kiss her, thumbs brushing over her cheeks in a soft caress while with the same motion secretly wiping the falling tears away. When the kiss ended, he leaned back and closed his eyes.

"No. All good", he said in a light voice, then grinned.

"You on the other hand are still breathing funny, maybe…"

The rest of the sentence was lost, when she poked him in the ribs. He gave a small yelp that made her laugh and a deep growl that made her press a kiss to his left shoulder. He groaned.

"Actually. There is one thing…"

He knocked on the deck. It made a deep thumping sound.

"This is oak. Which, I might add, belongs to the botanical group of hardwoods. And let me assure you, that term is _very_ accurate."

He shifted again beneath her and she frowned, but before she could even think about trying to get up again, his arms were around her once more.

"But… that was well worth a little bit of back-pain", he said, then chuckled and pushed his nose into her hair, before whispering:

"I actually don't think I've ever done _that_ before."

Lisbon made something that sounded suspiciously like a snort somewhere close to his heart.

"What? Breaking the law? Sure you have."

He lifted his nose out of her hair and said.

"Ah, I thought we'd established that this was private property. Besides…"

He tugged on the collar of his shirt.

"You were still wearing too many clothes to actually break any decency laws."

She looked up at him, blushing a little. He reached out a hand, stroked her flushed cheek and said in that quiet voice, she'd already come to love so much.

"I meant: making love out in the ocean under a full moon and a million stars."

Lisbon pressed first her cheek and then a soft kiss into the palm of his hand.

"Me neither", she whispered and snuggled back into his embrace with a sigh.

Jane looked up into the star-filled sky, his mind for once not really occupied with anything other than drifting along in a feeling of lazy, content peace. Sometimes it would, just to show it still could, point out to him an obscure constellation and the story attached to it. He wondered if sharing one or two of them with Lisbon would take "pretty damn romantic" down to "cheesy clichéd rom-com"-level. And then he closed his eyes and stopped thinking again, when he felt her fingers caress his neck, sliding over that spot behind his ear that felt so incredibly…

And then suddenly the soft pressure of her body on top of his was gone. He blinked into the night. Damn. She had distracted him long enough to slip out of his embrace and get up.

He made a distressed protesting sound.

"Lisbon!"

When she ignored him, he reached up his arms towards her. "My back is really sore. You could at least help me get up, after everything I have suffered through for your pleasure and satisfaction."

This time there was no doubt: The sound she made, was a snort.

"Aww… Poor you… Maybe we should go inside, so you can lie down and rest on a nice comfy bed. Just give me a second…"

He dropped both the whining and his arms, when she slowly picked up her top, this time not bothering to ask him if he was staring at her backside, but moving into his line of sight, so that there was really nothing else he could be looking at right now. She straightened back up, turned around and, with a sexy smile, slid his shirt off her shoulders and slowly, very slowly put first her top and then his shirt back on.

Jane swallowed.

"On second thoughts, I think this isn't oak. I think it's pine. Softwood. Quite comfortable, really."

He patted the wooden surface lightly to stress his point.

"See?"

She grinned at him, lifting her hair out of his shirt and adjusting the collar.

"High voice."

He growled. It was still in a pretty high key and it made her laugh. Which made him smile.

She looked around, then frowned.

"Quite frankly? I'm much more interested in why this thing is here, than what kind of wood it is made of. It doesn't really seem to serve any purpose, does it?"

Jane sat up with a reluctant sigh, finally accepting that he would not coax her back down again. When he rotated his left shoulder and winced at the pain, he thought it was, after all, maybe for the better.

She watched him stretch his back and neck and expected a groan and more whining to follow in the wake of it. So she was quite surprised when he gave her a sheepish smile and an answer to her question instead.

"Actually, it does… But I'm not sure if you really want to know."

She raised an impatient eyebrow at him and crossed her arms in front of her chest. He grinned. Suddenly this very familiar expression and stance was now a lot more adorable than threatening.

Which was probably due to the still quite dramatic lack of clothing and firearms at her disposal.

"Oh, I think I do want to know. Talk. Now."

Then again, _that_ tone of voice still needed neither dressing up nor weaponry to be impressive.

Jane tried to struggle to his feet and was glad, when Lisbon finally moved to help him up. He gave her another sheepish grin and a shrug and made a wide sweeping gesture with his arms towards the hotel and the city on the shore.

"All of this used to be a con-man's paradise. I mean, it kind of still is, but now it's mostly just about getting a nice tan, enjoying delicious sea-food and scamming and pick-pocketing camera-huggers."

"And about drug trade and human trafficking and prostitution and…"

Jane huffed. "Oh please, these are all the result of base, boring and highly criminal behaviour. I'm talking about _art_. After all, the term is con-_artist_."

Lisbon wanted to give him a sweet reply containing a word that started with "con" as well, but ended in something close to the other end of the alphabet, when she suddenly realised that he wasn't standing beside her anymore, but behind her and that at the end of his grand sweeping gesture, he had not put his arms back to his sides, but wrapped them around her waist.

Not that she was complaining about it.  
This was rather nice.

She leaned against him, then suddenly drew back with a jolt of realisation and turned in his embrace with a questioning frown. He shook his head.

"Don't worry, my foot is fine."

She narrowed her eyes and stabbed a finger into his chest.

"I swear if you're lying to me and you're not able to walk tomorrow…"

Jane grinned and stole a quick kiss, then whispered into her ear:

"…then I don't think my injured foot will be the sole reason for that…"

She laughed and turned around again, leaning against him, feeling his arms tighten just a little around her, before he took up their earlier conversation:

"Anyway. Assuming you went on a treasure hunt around these shores, what do you think you'd be most likely to find?"

She craned her neck to give him a slightly suspicious look.

"We are not talking about the breach of decency laws again, are we?"

Jane chuckled and swayed them gently from side to side.

"No. Take another guess."

"Empty Starbucks plastic cups formerly containing something ending in -"chino"."

"Good one, but… no."

"Jane…"

"Guess."

She sighed. Then gave it some thought.

"Ok. Assuming we are not talking about garbage and waste management - or lack thereof - either, I'd say… small change. Pennies. Dimes. Maybe the odd old Spanish coin? Something like that?"

"Actually it is more likely you'll find a Florida casino chip from the 1920s than old Spanish coins or any other currency."

She turned her head again, so she could check if he was messing with her. Which he wasn't.

"I'm not joking. Once upon a time Miami was teeming with illegal casinos and back-room-gambling. There were a lot of high rollers in town as well as a lot of organised crime. Al Capone chose Miami as his winter home, for instance. So there is a good chance that this…"

Lisbon smiled, when she saw his focus and mind shift into his patented Jane-paying-attention-mode while he scanned his surroundings with intense curiosity. It was a very familiar sight, though she had to admit that, seeing him do it in nothing but plain black boxer-shorts and *this* up close, was a first.

She rested her arms on top of his, fingers slowly travelling back and forth over his skin. He smiled and went on.

"…was an illegal casino. It's been refurbished and changed over the years, but I bet the original building is from the 1920s. And so is the jetty and… " He pointed towards the palms and the artificial islands "… all of this stuff."

Lisbon jumped on his train of thought and turned her head to glance up at him once more.

"So assuming there was illegal gambling going on in there, on a regular basis and with high stakes, you wouldn't want to be seen entering that building, would you?"

Jane nodded.

"Exactly."

Lisbon lifted one hand from his arm to point at a random palm on the rock in front of her.

"So say, a random fishing boat would land here, claiming to deliver fresh sea-food for the hotel and the players would just disembark along with a few crates of fresh fish and walk down the jetty and into the hotel, protected by fake palms and fake flamingos and fake rocks, so no one could see them from the shore."

Jane nodded and said.

"Maybe they even put a big flashy sign with the name of the hotel on either side of the jetty, to give the impression that hiding the jetty behind palms and rocks was just creative advertising. Very discrete. Very clever."

"Yeah, it was. Back then at least."

When she glanced back up at him with a slight frown, he raised his eyebrows at her sarcastic tone in a silent question. She leaned her head back against his shoulder with a sigh and, looking up into the star-filled sky said:

"I mean, the view, of the ocean, of the sky… this is spectacular. You could make much better use of it, couldn't you? Put a bit of effort in, like, I don't know, put a table and some chairs here and offer romantic dinners for two or something like that and you could charge a lot more for the room. I mean, they never even mentioned this to us when we checked in."

Jane chuckled and pressed a soft kiss into her hair.

"Oh I think they usually do make very good use of it", he said. "And that there's a reason why they didn't mention this to us."

The amused, but slightly nervous tone which drifted along his words worried her. She glanced back up at him again. The amused, twitching smile in the corners of his mouth worried her even more. She turned in his embrace, so she could look at him without breaking her neck in the process.

"Usually?"

"Yeah. You know. I think they have a lot more things of a certain romantic nature to offer to the kind of couples that usually stay in this room."

"So what? You're saying we're an unusual couple, then?"

He chuckled, trying to ignore that loud thundering jump his heart just made, when she just randomly used the term "couple" in casual conversation.

"Very. We're not even supposed to _be _in this room, remember?"

"Unfortunately I do. Very clearly."

There was a small alarm-bell going off in the back of her head, as a very uncomfortable thought began to form. Her voice rose almost an octave on her next question.

"So… how exactly are we unusual guests for this particular room, then?"

He suddenly sobered up, gave her a serious look and put his hands on her shoulders. She could feel real tension in them and his look shifted to something so uncomfortable, she almost wanted to reach out and touch his face to brush it away.

Almost. Because now the thought sprang to life and her eyes widened.

"Teresa, you have to believe me, ok? I promise, I had no idea, until I came out here and took a good look around and I might still be wrong about this… please, don't panic…"

She let her head fall against his chest with a heavy thump and a deep, long groan.

"Don't tell me. This happens to be the honeymoon-suite, right?"

* * *

**A/N:** Next one will be up a lot sooner, I promise :) For now I hope you liked this one :-)


	11. Releasing Anxious Energy

**A/N:** Sunrise is still two or three chapters east of here, so a very, very, very heartfelt thanks to the few brave and patient people, who are still sticking with this story and hopefully still like it a little bit. Thank you for still being here. It means more than I can say.

* * *

Letting her pace up and down for a while to get rid of all her anxious energy before taking up their conversation again had seemed like a good idea. At least two mild cardiac events (him), a dizzy-spell (him), a strained muscle (neck, left side, also him), three minutes and an avalanche of growls and mutters that were in clear violation of any public profanity law (her) earlier. Lucky for Lisbon, that particular piece of legislation had been abolished in Florida in 1978. He wasn't going to point this out to her, though, as it might have led to her raising her voice — and therefore getting fined for swearing in public after all.

Most likely by the state of Wisconsin.

But pacing had seemed like a good idea at the time, because after careful consideration, he'd decided it was the least painful way of stress relief in this kind of scenario.

Particularly for his already quite dishevelled, sore and limping charming self.

The reasoning behind his thoughts, was this:

There was, of course, a pleasant and obvious method of releasing energy. A method that, being still new and probably unexpected in circumstances like this, would produce very quick and satisfying results for all parties concerned. But when he'd smiled at her and she'd growled at him, he'd deleted it from his list. And emptied the trash, just to be on the safe side.

Getting her mad enough to punch him, was out of the question as well: They'd both hurt like hell afterwards — albeit for different reasons.

Which left letting her use her usual method of coping with anxious energy: Straightening, re-arranging or discarding anything and everything within her reach.

He had watched her, as she had — with the kind of fierce concentration that was only required for brain surgery — smoothed out the wrinkles from the front of his shirt and tugged at the collar to adjust it for the second time in three minutes. Both shirt and collar had surrendered to her determined touch at once, leaving no wrinkles and creases and her hands once again with nothing to do. She gave an exasperated huff then and Jane had wondered briefly if choosing a care- and wrinkle-free fabric for his shirts had not been such a good idea after all.

He'd made a swift scan of the area, to see if there was anything else in close proximity she could lay her hands on. The second post to their left was a bit out of alignment with the rest, but even though Lisbon was angry, she still wasn't even close to developing the kind of super-powers necessary to push the post back into its original position. Lisbon did look a bit green, though, he'd thought with a concerned frown.

The frown had deepened, when he'd realised there was only one thing within her reach that she actually _could_ move, re-arrange or discard.

_Him_.

And since he'd had no intention of catching hypothermia while going for an involuntary midnight swim, he'd put a hand on the small of her back and with the tiniest bit of gentle pressure against her spine, had sent her into pacing mode.

On the forth sharp turn at the end of the jetty she'd almost lost her balance and tumbled into the sea, which had nearly given him a heart-attack, since he'd been too far away to reach her at the moment. So once his pulse was steady again, he had started to move closer to the end of the jetty, but had not factored in that his limp slowed him down and so he'd managed to cross her path at the worst possible time: Lisbon had been looking at the deck and had walked straight into him with the force of an oncoming steam-train. It had sent him stumbling back and his heart into shock for the second time in two minutes. Before he could fall off the jetty, Lisbon had almost casually grabbed his arm and pulled him to safety, then turned on her heels and padded on without blinking, stopping or uttering a word, as if nothing had happened.

Jane had proceeded to a convenient rescue spot — although after what just happened, he wasn't really sure which one of them was in more danger here — and then just started to watch her. Since he was blocking her original path to the end of the jetty, she was now pacing from one side to the other. Which meant a sharp turn every six and half feet for her, as well as dizziness and neck-pain for him.

It was at this point that he decided, that hypothermia might have been the less painful and more efficient option after all.

Lisbon knew that pacing back and forth like a tigress with tooth-ache in a cage was not going to solve anything. She had expected, though, that it would calm her down a little. But being bare-foot on a small wooden jetty, and thus not being able to make angry appropriate pacing noises and, thanks to an obstacle by the name of Patrick Jane, not reaching a satisfying pacing speed either, somehow made the whole thing a lot less efficient than she would have hoped.

Lisbon sighed.

Hope. That was one word she really thought she could finally cross off her list of most over-used terms and phrases now. Right along with "worst case scenario" and "damn it, Jane."

Lisbon sighed again.

No such luck then.

Okay. Worst case? Maybe she could get her old job back. And if she did, she'd sure as hell drag him up there with her this time. Eternal boredom was the perfect punishment for getting her yet into another mess.

The honeymoon suite! Not just any room, but the freaking honeymoon suite! It was bad enough knowing she had to go back to work trying to face or ignore all the general "Oh my god, did you hear she ditched Pike and hooked up with Jane just like *that*"-gossip behind her back. But she was prepared for that. Not comfortable with it, but prepared for it. What she wasn't prepared for, was the utter and complete humiliation if anyone ever found out, that mere hours after "ditching Pike", she'd spent the night in the freaking *honeymoon suite* with Jane. Images of whispered conversation in the break-room, the elevator, the briefing-room and the corridors rushed into her head, unbidden and unwelcome and bringing with them a headache and a cold, clammy feeling in the palms of her hands. She closed her eyes, trying to block out the voices suddenly ringing in her ears.

_"Oh my, she's really desperate to get a man, isn't she? With Pike it was at least a few weeks. This was mere hours."_  
_"I blame hormones. Her biological clock is ticking fast."_  
_"I blame Jane. Poor woman, I bet he only wants to keep his favourite pet and tricked her into this so she wouldn't leave."_  
_"As I said: Desperate. If she falls into that kind of clichéd and obvious trap."_  
_"You really have to feel sorry for her…"_  
_"Nah. I think beneath that saintly exterior is a real man-eater. Deep waters and all that. You know."_

And then there was one serious deep voice, pushing through all the others. She saw Abbott rising out of his chair in slow motion, like Poseidon out of the sea, holding a hotel-bill in front of her face, while Jane was standing next to her, grinning, hands clasped behind his back and rocking back and forth on his heels in amusement.

"Agent Lisbon, care to explain the meaning of _this_?"

Maybe she didn't even need her old job back. Maybe the floor would just open and swallow her up. Or she'd spontaneously combust out of burning shame after all. And in the process turn Jane's smug grin to ashes as an added bonus.

When she opened her eyes, she saw that he wasn't grinning.  
Smug or otherwise.

He looked at her like a whale stranded in front of a sushi-beach-bar which was occupied by a bunch of investment bankers and a girl with braces.

He also started to gasp for air like a beached whale.

_What the…?_

It was then that Jane completed the picture by giving a short high-frequency alarming sound of distress — the very moment Lisbon slipped and lost her balance.

The stars and the moon were suddenly falling towards her, the sea reaching up with cold, greedy fingers and then, just before it could grab her, there was a hand around her upper arm and one around her waist and then the world didn't contain any more stars or ocean waves or wooden planks or plastic palms or hotel bills not even thoughts of humiliation and spontaneous human combustion.

Only Jane.  
And nothing else.

She leaned into him, breathing in deeply, letting her hands rest on his shoulders, closing her eyes, as his grip loosened and he slowly let go of her, drawing his hands away in a soft caress over her arm and her back. Somehow she wasn't ready to let go yet and so she reached up and pulled him down, until her forehead was resting against his.

"You okay?", he asked after a while, still a little breathless, but not sounding like a beached marine mammal anymore.

"Yeah. Thanks. Sorry. Just a bit… freaked out."

He raised his eyebrows in mild, amused disapproval, which felt funny with her forehead resting against his.

"Okay", she admitted. "_More_ than just a bit."

"Why?" he asked.

She opened her eyes and took a step back, hands brushing over the front of his shirt in a nervous, not quite straight line.

"Why? You want to know _why_? Jane, if _anyone_ finds out about this…"

Jane interrupted her by taking her hands in his and squeezing them with gentle reassurance.

"Okay. Before we get to your "why", let me just add mine to the mix."

He ducked a little and lowered his head, so his face was level with hers and he could look into her eyes. When her gaze stopped flickering and he had her complete attention, he said.

"_Why_ would anyone find out? The hotel doesn't loose any money as I've agreed to cover any possible additional costs exceeding the government-rate for two single rooms, so they don't care. They will probably even add one, two or three creative service-charges, knowing fully well that we won't be able to dispute them."

He shrugged with a lopsided grin and without letting go of her hands.

"At least that's what I would do."

Lisbon narrowed her eyes and glared at him. His grin widened and there was that familiar mischievous sparkle in his eyes.

"Plus, there is… uh … another incentive for the concierge to keep quiet about this special arrangement."

Lisbon's eyes widened and she let go of his hands to raise hers in a gesture of disbelief.

"You bribed him?"

Jane shook his head with a chuckle and pointed a finger at her.

"Ah. No. Guess again."

Lisbon tilted her head, her shoulders slumping down in resignation. She groaned, then pressed a hand to her forehead, to make sure her temperature was still well below combustion-levels.

"Please don't say you blackmailed him…"

Jane leaned back against the rebellious post to give his foot a little rest. It was starting to pulse with a quiet angry pain again. He shifted his weight a little more, then raised his hands up his chest, almost as if he wanted to pad something that wasn't there, Lisbon thought. Not knowing what else to do with his hands, which, she assumed, was due to a lack of pockets to burry them in, he finally crossed them in front of his chest.

"Ah. Well. Not as such. You know… just a friendly suggestion that he might want to conceal his… uh… amorous activities a little better. I don't believe he took it as a threat, I actually think he was quite grateful for my advice."

Lisbon took a step closer towards him, her frown shifting from anger to curiosity.

"What?"

Jane leaned a little forward, looked with an overly dramatic gaze to their left and right, as if to make sure no one was listening and whispered in a low voice:

"When he's on the night shift, he's pretending to be the general manager of this place to impress various lady friends. He's also stealing oysters from the kitchen at regular intervals and using the guests-only swimming pool… and the sauna."

He leaned back again, arms still folded, and blinked at her expectantly like a happy golden retriever waiting for his human to throw a rubber ball. Or in this case: for Lisbon to ask him how he had figured it out. That adorable expression on his face made her laugh, a warm happy feeling pushing the anxiousness aside for a moment and — before she could stop herself — a hand into his hair. He closed his eyes at her touch, and suddenly it was a little like looking into a mirror, when she saw that same warm happy feeling inside of her spreading in a wide, content smile across his face. She put her hands on either side of his face and brushed her thumbs in a soft caress across his cheeks, then left them there, waiting for him to open his eyes again. When he did, she first smiled at him, waiting for his eyes to focus on hers, before moving her eyebrows in the general direction of a frown and giving him a long serious look, with just a hint of amusement.

"Will you please stop smelling other people while you're going out with me?"

When she let go of his face, he lowered his head and pressed his nose against her neck, then nudged and pushed it beneath his shirt, until he had managed to locate a suitable warm, soft resting place between the shirt-collar and the strap of her black top. He drew the air in through his nose in a long, soft sigh, while his hands reached round her, pulling her against him in a tight embrace. Then he held his breath for a moment, before letting it out in a soft whisper against her ear.

"Okay. You smell nicer anyway."

She laughed. "Than the man smelling of sea-food, chlorine and fake pinewood? I hope so."

"Than all other people", Jane clarified from somewhere between her two thin layers of clothing, before moving a hand to the nape of her neck and using the other to rub soothing, soft circles across her back.

Both of them were equally surprised, when, in about ten seconds, it did the job that pacing, straightening and cursing had failed to accomplish in ten minutes and Lisbon finally let out a long sigh of relief. Jane waited a little while longer, then lifted his head, so he could look at her again.

"So. On to your "why". Why does it bother you so much?"

She leaned back in his arms to look at him, but before she could say anything, he shook his head, plucking that very first word she was meant to say straight out of her mind and off her tongue.

"And do not say "disciplinary action" or "travel expense irregularities", because I know that's not it."

He tilted his head from side to side, then admitted.

"Weeeeell, okay, it is, since it was the first thing you wanted to say just now, but there's something else that bothers you more than admin thinking there's been a mixup with our travel expenses."

She raised her eyebrows and her voice.

"A mixup?"

Jane grinned and leaned a little back, hoping that gravity would force her to lay back against his chest.

"Obviously. What else would it be?"

She put her hands on his arms, not trying to get out of the embrace, but to grab his attention and, since she refused to give into either Jane or gravity, to steady herself.

"Jane… this is really serious."

At her more than mildly distressed tone, he shifted his body back into an upright position and instead of trying to pull her towards him, moved his hands from her back to her arms and curled his fingers around her forearms, mirroring her earlier movements and steadying them both.

"Okay. Okay. If it bothers you so much, then I'll hobble straight back to reception right now and ask them to not bother billing the FBI at all, as we will be paying the room ourselves."

Her fingers snapped around his wrists like hand-cuffs. Only, unlike Lisbon's iron grip, hand-cuffs tended not to apply any more pressure once they were properly attached. Heavens, he'd almost forgotten how strong she was. He winced.

"Ah. That's a no then?"

She blinked at him in confusion, then, when he pointed his gaze at her hands in explanation, she loosened her grip.

A tiny bit at least.

"Sorry. Well. I… I don't know. I mean, how do you intend to explain that to Abbott?"

Knowing fully well, that his answer might trigger the crushing of bones in his wrists, he smiled at her, leaned suddenly forward and kissed her, a long, slow, deep kiss, to draw both tension and attention away from her hands. It was the short, quick and light one he pressed on top of her nose, though, that made her let go in the end.

He grinned, then gave a big shrug. "I don't."

Lisbon sucked in a sharp breath.

"Oh no… no, no, no… "

When she clenched her fists, Jane was very glad his wrists were no longer in there.

"You are not seriously expecting _me_ to…"

He chuckled, waved a dismissive hand at her and put it down on her shoulder in a very slow and very careful motion.

"No. I don't. I just don't think any kind of explanation will be necessary. I very much suspect he'll know why."

Lisbon groaned and let her head fall back against his chest: "This is EXACTLY what I was afraid of."

Jane squeezed her shoulder reassuringly and pressed a quick and equally reassuring kiss into her hair.

"There is no need to be afraid of good old Dennis. Trust me, even though he hides his true self rather well behind those Clark Kent glasses and the sharp suites and the wide variety of stern and serious expressions he has accumulated and mastered over the years…"

Lisbon lifted her head just in time to see him demonstrate that last point with rather disturbing accuracy.

Then his expression shifted back from dark, hovering, slightly annoyed rain-cloud to happy sunny afternoon and he continued.

"Inside, that big scary man is a big softy. He's a romantic at heart, Teresa. He wouldn't hold it against you or think any less of you, even if he were to find out about this. And if he does, I'll simply pretend that it's my fault."

Lisbon hit him flat on the chest.

"It _is_ your fault."

"Well, technically…."

"Jane…"

"Yes, Lisbon?"

"You do want this very good day to stay good, don't you?"

"Preferably."

"Then I would suggest not finishing either that sentence or that thought."

He gave this some consideration, before he tilted his head and nodded.

"An excellent suggestion."

He leaned in and kissed her forehead. Then said.

"Might I make another one?"

She raised her eyebrows at him. The gesture translated into a big "proceed at your own risk"-sign. So he did: By placing his other hand on her free shoulder and looking into her eyes.

"Don't worry about Abbott. Or the gossip."

"I'm not worried…"

He didn't have to say "high voice", because by the time the words were on his tongue, she'd already flinched at her own impromptu soprano performance. Jane grinned. Lisbon glowered at him. If any of their colleagues had been watching them now, they would find the scene normal and reassuringly familiar, Jane thought.

Well, except for their current state of undress, of course.

Lisbon sighed. "Alright", she admitted. "It does make me very uncomfortable to think what everyone would say if they knew about this. You know I don't like gossip. And I certainly don't like suddenly finding myself at the center of it."

Jane grinned.

"This might come as a shock to you, love, but you and I have been at the center of gossip ever since I stumbled into the CBI for the first time."

Lisbon scoffed at him in indignation and crossed her arms in front of her chest.

"We certainly have not. At least…"

She shrugged and blushed a little, avoiding his gaze. "You know… not for _that_ reason anyway."

Jane laughed and ran a hand through his hair.

"Oh yes, believe me. For _exactly_ that reason. And no other."

Lisbon frowned.

"Why? Why on earth would anyone bother? I mean, I didn't even _like_ you at the beginning."

Jane put a protective hand over his heart.

"Ouch."

"Oh, you know what I mean."

He gave her a mock hurt look and whined.

"yeah, but sti…illl…"

Since she knew he was expecting a kiss as compensation for her words, she poked him in the ribs instead. Jane gave a surprised yelp. Lisbon grinned. He glowered at her, crossed his arms in front of his chest and hobbled to the post to lean back against it, so he could once more take some weight off his injured foot. When he saw the fast approach of guilt in her eyes, he flicked another wide grin on his face and continued in an amused, light tone.

"Why would anyone _not_ think about this. I mean, if you look at it from _their_ point of view, it's actually hard to avoid."

He opened his arms and pointed at her with both hands.

"Smart, witty, brave and beautiful brunette woman with solid career in law enforcement, a firm set of moral believes and a heart of gold hidden behind a wall of solid sarcasm, deep frowns and regular fits of impatience and fury…"

"I am _not_ impatient", Lisbon protested.

"…meets…"

He turned his hands to point at himself.

"… mysterious, clever, charming…"

"… irritating, childish, reckless…"

"… _handsome_…"

"Ok, that one is true, I guess…"

"well, thank you…mischievous but loveable blonde scoundrel with a colourful and tragic past."

Jane waved a hand back and forth between them. "Despite their differences they make a great team and catch the most dangerous criminals. It's perfect. Like something straight out of a light-hearted crime procedural on Sunday night television."

Lisbon snorted. "Yeah, right. A tv-show that starts with you sauntering across a crime-scene and making yourself a nice cup of tea in the victim's kitchen…"

"I remember that tea was exquisite…"

"… before starting a conversation with a grieving woman, by the end of which, she turns around and shoots her husband."

"What? He was the guilty party!"

"So not the point, Jane. _Still _so not the point. Anyway, since all of this crazyness happens even _before_ the opening credits, I am pretty sure no audience would buy it and we'd get cancelled after the pilot episode."

Jane huffed in indignation and let his chin fall towards his chest.

"Oh ye of little faith."

He lifted his head again and grinned at her. She grinned back. He looked up at the night sky and finally made a deep long sigh, shaking his head, before jumping back on the tracks of their original conversation.

"Anyway. What I'm saying, Teresa, is this. There will always be gossip. About me, you, Fischer, Cho…"

"What could people possibly have to gossip about Cho?"

"I'll tell you later… the latest story is quite amusing actually and involves Koi carp, a roll of duct tape and a can of soda."

She shook her head and laughed, a little more of the tension leaving her body in the process, which Jane noted with a mixture of relief and satisfaction.

"OK, this is one piece of gossip I definitely want to hear about", Lisbon said, when she'd caught her breath again. Jane chuckled softly.

They fell silent for a moment, just looking at each other, for the first time both aware again of the sound of the waves, the light of the full moon and the twinkling stars above them. Finally Jane smiled and stretched a hand towards her, his index-finger just barely reaching her arm and trailing down across her skin in a light, inviting gesture. She smiled back at him, took a step closer and let him pull her into his arms, before turning in his embrace, so she could look up at the same stars as him.

Although, when he wrapped his arms around her in a delightfully possessive gesture and pressed a long kiss into her hair, she forgot all about the stars again and just closed her eyes with a sigh. After a little while, Jane started swaying them gently from side to side and asked very quietly.

"Still freaked out?"

She nodded.

"A little."

"Try not to be. It doesn't matter."

"But it does matter. To me."

Her voice was so quiet and light now, Jane almost didn't catch her words drifting almost silently above the soothing white noise of the midnight ocean.

"I just don't… I'd hate to be ridiculed because of… you know…"

Jane's reply was equally quiet, but rolled heavy and just a little sad along the jetty and into the deep blue of the night.

"So, you're saying what? That you're embarrassed about _this_?"

His arms tightened around her. She shook her head against his shoulder in fierce disagreement.

"No! But this is a lot easier for you than it is for me. You don't care what anyone thinks."

He stopped the swaying motion and dropped his forehead against the back of her head.

"That's not true. I care about what _you_ think."

And just before the rushing sound of the waves could carry his words away into the night, Lisbon heard him whisper against her ear.

"I _always_ have."

* * *

**A/N:** *drops head on keyboard* That. Took. Ages. And almost drove me insane. And I *so* hope it was worth all the tears of frustration and all the yelling at the screen and that you liked it :-)


	12. Three Words

**A/N:** Okay. Now I'm freaking out. I thought I had until January to finish this. But now it seems I have to do it in *excited but very scared sheep noises* 14 days. And I promise I will. No matter what. This story ends on November 30th. It has to. For obvious reasons. I'll shut up now. No pressure ;-) Happy T-2 Mentalist Sunday! And thanks to Brookelyn for the impromptu cheese challenge & the much needed tears of laughter this morning :-).

* * *

Endorphins. They were great. Amazing, in fact. He'd almost forgotten about endorphins. And he wasn't used to their prolonged presence in his system anymore, which meant they were messing with his concentration. Big time. But as long as Lisbon was in his arms, the endorphin-production was not very likely to stop any time soon. And since he planned on keeping her there indefinitely, he was probably going to say a lot more stupid things before — and after — sunrise.

_I always have._

The three words had not drifted out into the sea and the night and the past after all. They'd never even made it over the edge of the jetty. Lisbon had caught them before they could sneak past her into the silence.

Jane could tell.

By that one short, hard, erratic breath, that stole into her otherwise very even and carefully organised breathing pattern. By the twitch of a muscle on the side of her neck. By the way her pulse sped up, the vein in her neck suddenly swelling and sending small erratic vibrations across her skin and against his cheek.

It was a bit like putting an ear on a railway track to check for an oncoming train.

Although, pressing his cheek against a railway track instead of Lisbon's neck would be far less nerve-wrecking right now, Jane thought.

Because the moment the words had left his tongue, he'd realised what they implied, but it had been too late to re-phrase them.

For years she had believed that he didn't care about her feelings, her thoughts and opinions. That in most situations her disapproval was nothing more than a small inconvenience to him, since it meant losing time by either needing to argue with her or to come up with a plan to go behind her back. He knew it had hurt her, thinking that at the end of the day, he didn't give a damn about what she thought, despite everything. But he had.

And had gone ahead with every single one of his plans and schemes _anyway_.

And that was, on closer inspection and in retrospect, a lot worse than not caring at all.

He closed his eyes, swallowed the hot, heavy rock of fear that was suddenly stuck in his throat and it sank to the pit of his stomach slow and burning and heavy.

"Teresa?"

He whispered her name against her ear, trying to keep his voice light and carefree. She kept silent. Didn't move. He pressed a desperate kiss behind her ear, suddenly feeling helpless, for once not able to sense, to read or see what she was thinking.

Was she going to draw the same conclusion? Or would she see past the implications and spot the truth his endorphin-riddled mind had felt compelled to just sputter out without consulting him on the matter before?

The truth, that he was here today because of her. And only because of her. That it was caring about what she thought and felt and wanted, that had made him alter some of the most important plans and decisions of his life.

And, without being aware of it at the time, even since the very first day they met.

He remembered how, back then, she'd told him to clean himself up and how he found himself in the bathroom that evening, razor in hand, staring at his pale reflection in the mirror and for the first time leading the blade with determination and a steady hand across the stubble on his chin and not with a mixture of fear and longing and despair with shaking fingers towards his throat. He also hadn't been drinking that night for the first time in a long time. Just sat on the floor and stared at the image of red horror on the wall, watching the cold pale moonlight and the shadows following in its wake move across it, until the sun rose again. He remembered that he hadn't enjoyed the sunrise. The colours. The light. It hadn't meant anything to him. But he remembered that he had acknowledge their presence for the first time in a long time. The beginning of a new day.  
He lifted his head and looked towards the water, at the happy silver sparkles of moonlight dancing on the waves. The light from the same moon. How different it now looked. And suddenly through the fear and the uncertainty, broke a longing and a need so great, it rose as a shiver up his back and escaped his mouth in a short, desperate sigh against her skin.

To see the sun rise.  
With Lisbon in his arms.  
He'd do anything for that.

When she still hadn't said anything after 47 seconds — not that he had been counting — he opened his mouth to tell her. All of it. Without holding back. But the memory was all emotion, cold fear, paralysing despair, silent screams and numbing pain and refused to be put into words. To make sure it would stay inside of him undisturbed a while longer, it gripped his throat tight and the world went red and white as he tried to breathe through the sudden panic. Pure instinct made him move and he pressed his face back into her neck, hands tightening around her waist. After a few seconds, he finally managed to force a short breath up his nose.

The air he inhaled, smelled like Lisbon.

And suddenly the pressure around his throat was gone and he was able to breathe again. The relief was so great, that he started pressing soft kisses on her neck and behind her ear, even though deep inside, he was still wrestling with words and memories, hoping, fighting, needing to find the right ones to make her forgive him. Once again.

Lisbon had noticed the shiver that had run up his spine, had heard the small distressed sound he'd made, had felt his arms tighten around her, his breath go funny on her neck, but was too preoccupied to react to any of it.

Three words.

How was it that sentences with just three words could mess you up so completely in a few seconds? Jane would probably say that given the fact that the human mind can only hold on to four things at a time, it had just enough capacity to add an emotion to the words, before filing the whole thing neatly away as a set, thus creating a powerful memory. Or that there was no room for distraction and deception within the confines of a three-word-sentence. It was pure. The essence of all things. Good and bad. Either truth or lie. But Jane seemed suddenly occupied with kissing her neck and she had no intention of interrupting such an important task by discussing semantics with him.

Besides. She had a much more important topic to think about.

Three words. Lisbon let them sink in. He'd always cared. Always. It was something so wonderful and terrifying and painful all at once, that she felt dizzy for a moment and not really sure what she felt at all. It was wonderful, because, well, he cared. And now that she knew, doubt at his motivation for certain nice things he'd done vanished with a happy sigh. And yet. He'd still done all the bad things regardless and what did that mean? That he hadn't cared enough? Or that he was simply able to set aside everything when he felt he needed to. She knew he was capable of that. She'd seen him do it. And not just once. And not only to other people. And what did that imply for the future? Their future? That he'd do it again when it suited him? To her? To them? A gust of that familiar feeling of resignation, of heaviness, of cold and doubt settled in her bones like an icy north wind on a gloomy winter afternoon in Washington.

She closed her eyes, not knowing what to do or to think. Only that this might be a recurring theme in their relationship and that she needed to make a decision on how to deal with it. Now.

Based on three words.  
The essence of things.

_The truth is._  
_It scares me._  
_I love you._  
_Yes, I did._  
_For me, too._  
_I always have._

And then there was a last one. Not in her memory. But close to her ear. Just as quiet. Just as soft. And more than a little scared.

"I am sorry."

After another 23 seconds — and this time he didn't even try to pretend to himself that he hadn't counted or that his blood-pressure was fine — he finally got his reply.

Lisbon turned in his arms, careful and slow, not looking at him, eyes closed and cast down. She didn't try to get out of his embrace, didn't put pressure on his arms to make him let go. She just stood in front of him. Silent. Tense. And then, just as he was about to say it again, she suddenly took his face in her hands and looked up, gazing deep into his eyes.

His knees suddenly did the funny wobbly thing from earlier again, when a soft smile spread across her face, the silver moonlight dancing in her eyes now, all happy and bright and alive and she whispered in a voice so soft, so quiet and yet so sure and certain:

"We are here. Nothing else matters."

And then she kissed him. Pulled his head down and kissed him with so much conviction, so much love, so much affection that his central nervous system and pituitary gland started to put in overtime and his mind went blank for a while.

When conscious thought returned, somewhere between pulling her lower lip into his mouth and sliding his hands back into her hair, he wondered briefly if he should do a list. A regular schedule. A menu. One carefully selected truth per week, served preferably Friday night after dessert. Because he wasn't sure how much truth they both could handle in just one night. There were two more that needed saying before the sun rose, he was very well aware of it, but for now he was determined to steer them back into calmer waters again. Well, once they passed the cliffs of workplace related uncertainty anyway. Which he was confident he could navigate through without making either one of them needing to walk a plank or to cause any permanent structural damage to their ship.

He gave her cheek a playful nudge with his nose.

"Not even the gossip?"

She wrinkled her nose and sighed.

"Can we drop this?"

"It apparently really worries you, so. No. We cannot. But speaking of dropping things…"

He pointed to his foot, then let go of her and hobbled towards the edge of the jetty, before sitting down with a sigh. He turned a little sideways so he could stretch out his injured foot along the edge of the jetty, while drawing the other one up to his chest.

"That's better."

He winked at her and patted the wood beside him. Lisbon flopped down next to him and drew her knees up to her chest. Her toes stuck out just a little beyond the edge of the jetty and she titled her head and looked down into the dark water. Jane watched her and the kaleidoscope of butterflies in his stomach rose once more, when she bit her lower lip in excitement, curiosity and just a touch of fear, when her eyebrows rose a little and the hint of a smile twitched in the left corner of her mouth. She wriggled her toes without even being aware of it. Jane grinned.

"Go ahead. Do it." he said.

She frowned. The sort of frown showing the deep level of concentration needed to decide which kind of ice-cream to pick or how to chose the precise moment to start running across a filed in the summer rain. A very young kind of frown. She leaned forward and peered closer into the dark water, then shook her head.

"Uh… No. I don't think so. There are things in there."

"Things?"

"Sharks. Jellyfish. Fish. Things. Fishy things."

The age of her voice now suddenly matched the age of her frown and Jane almost suffocated again, only this time it was happiness and life taking his breath away, not fear and death. God, she could be cute. He hadn't allowed himself to think and feel that so loud and clear and guilt-free ever before. It felt good.

He pushed himself a little further back with his uninjured foot, until he could lean back on his elbows, taking pleasure in just watching her think for a few moments. Then he said:

"I promise to save you from all the scary fishy things. Go on, I know you want to do it. The water shouldn't be too cold."

She turned her head to frown at him, clearly not convinced, despite his rather convincing tone of voice.

"You? Saving me? From getting my feet bitten off by a shark? What are you going to do? Hypnotise it into thinking it's a clown-fish?"

He gave her an offended look and a huff.

"What? For your information I've dealt with nasty man-and-woman-eating fish before. And quite well, I might add."

She scoffed.

"What, like loan-sharks?"

He shook his head and pointed a finger at her.

"Reasonable assumption…."

Then snatched the finger back again.

"But no. Real nasty man-eating fish."

She raised her eyebrows and her voice.

"Really? When? Where?"

"Ah… South Dakota. Late Eighties. In a big glass tank with a ridiculously heavy metal lid and lock on top. With handcuffs on. And a black bag over my head."

Now there was a memory he was also very uncomfortable with, but absolutely certain he'd be able to share without risking a panic-attack in the process. Only permanent damage to his pride and self-esteem, but since he knew it would make her laugh, he decided he could live with that.

"…wearing nothing but a pair of the most hideous and tight stars-and-stripes-covered-speedos you can think of…"

She started laughing. Hard. Loud. Free.

"… trying not get eaten, not to drown and most of all not lose the little dignity I still had left, while doing a ridiculously cliched cheap underwater Houdini act. Five times a week. For two month. In front of a few hundred people across the lovely Mount Rushmore state. You know. Great faces. Great places. Although there were all a bit of a bubbly blur from my point of view."

Lisbon gave a snort, then finally managed to push out a sentence between two fits of laughter.

"Oh my god. I wish I could have seen this. Please, tell me there's a photo or something out there somewhere. Please."

Jane moved his good foot in a happy motion from side to side, which somehow seemed the equivalent of a dog wagging its tail.

"Ah. I'm afraid you're out of luck. It took me three years to find and destroy all the evidence relating to that particular gig. Mind you, it wasn't easy to erase that rather embarrassing job from my CV, but I'm glad I managed to in the end. Anyway…"

He sat up and slid back to the edge to sit beside her again and made a sweeping gesture towards the ocean beyond.

"… since I managed neither to drown nor get eaten by predators, it proves that my underwater skills are in fact excellent, otherwise I wouldn't be here."

Even through the laughter she noticed he had left something out.

"So what about your dignity then?"

He glowered at her and growled.

"I don't really feel comfortable to talk about it…"

Now she was on her back. And crying. Genuinely crying, hands holding her stomach, her whole body shaking with laughter. He let himself fall back, until he was lying next to her and propped himself up on an elbow, grinning, watching her trying to catch her breath. When she finally did, he reached out a hand and wiped a few remaining tears of laughter off her face. After a moment she asked.

"Was it dangerous?"

Jane shook his head.

"Nah. Just a trick. A tricky trick. But ultimately just a trick."

He grinned that very adorable lopsided Jane-grin, then shrugged and ran a hand through his hair. Lisbon wasn't sure if he had any idea how handsome he was, when he was just himself. Then a thought occurred to her.

"But what about the sharks? These are dangerous animals, so…"

Jane interrupted her with a small squirming sound, before admitting.

"Okay. Wasn't really sharks."

"What then?"

He shrugged.

"Catfish. We couldn't afford sharks. My… co-host loved to fish. He caught them in a river before we went on the road."

She shook her head.

"Catfish?"

Jane nodded.

"Yes. Big ones, though. And believe me, those are quite nasty creatures. Way worse than sharks. Moody. Really moody fish."

"So how did you survive being in a tank with grumpy fish then?"

He grinned. Did the thing with his foot again.

"I found their one true weakness."

Lisbon rolled her eyes, but indulged him nevertheless.

"Which was?", she asked.

"French cheese", Jane replied.

"Tossing them a few chunks of Bleu des Causses made them quite mellow and happy for about 30 minutes — which was more than enough time for me to get in and out of there without getting bitten or worse."

Lisbon raised her eyebrows.

"French cheese?"

"Yes. French cheese saved my American bacon. Literally."

She shook her head with a snort.

"You're making that up."

"No. I am not. Catfish love cheese. Google it, if you don't believe me", he said and flopped onto his back, crossing his hands behind his head and closing his eyes. Lisbon frowned as a thought occurred to her.

"Jane?"

"Hm?"

"Why were you in a tank with cheese-eating catfish?"

He shrugged.

"What can I say? I was young and I needed the money."

She rolled onto her side and tapped her index-finger against his elbow.

"I thought you were with the carny and your Dad in the 80s?"

"Ah. No. Not during that particular summer. Long story."

She watched him. Closely. He was still the very picture of relaxation, still smiling, still seemingly content and his answer had been casual dismissive, as if it was just not a very interesting story to share. He looked the same as five seconds ago.

But she knew he wasn't.

She felt it. Like she had before. Only this time, she was not preoccupied with her own thoughts and feelings. And knew. He struggled with something. Like before. She raised herself up, shifted, until she could lay her head on his chest and wrap one arm possessively around his waist and the other around his neck. He still didn't open his eyes. Or switch off the fake smile. Or take his hands away from behind his head to hold her against him. He just lay still and silent beneath her. She pressed a kiss on top of his heart.

"Tell me another time?", she suggested.

Relief washed over his face then for a second, followed by a flash of sadness. Then the fake smile was back up, but it broke into a million pieces, when she said his name, touched his cheek and brushed a thumb across his skin.

He opened his eyes. They were dark and wide and it took a while until they managed to focus on her. Even though she wanted to stay where she was, she thought, that he might need a little space. So she sat back up again. Moved. As did Jane. Without a word both of them edged to the end of the jetty again, knees drawn up, both of them staring out into the night in silence. Then, after a while, Jane interrupted the solemn chorus of ocean waves again.

"Teresa, there's… "

He sighed.

"There's a lot of things that I need to tell you. WANT to tell you. Things that… I haven't shared with anyone. But I don't…"

She saw him struggle. Against himself. The night. The past. And she reached out. Screw space. He'd had enough of that during the past few years and it had gotten him nowhere. Time for a different approach.

_No rush. No pressure. But no more hiding in the attic. Or in South America._

She slipped her arm under his, rested her head on his shoulder, put her other hand on his knee, fingers slowly and gently stroking up and down his calf. After only a second in which she should feel tension and fear build inside of him, he let it go again with a loud sigh and put his arm around her, drawing her closer, turning his head, until he could press a long thankful kiss into her hair. Then he tried again.

"There's a lot things that I need to say to you. Have to say to you. Want to say to you. That I haven't … shared with anyone. But it's terrifying, because sometimes even if I want to, I can't. I just. Can't. And it has nothing to do with you, it's… "

He shrugged.

"Like there's certain doors that I just can't unlock."

"There is no such thing as a door that you can't unlock. If there's one person who can, it's you."

He shook his head.

"It's not that kind of door, I'm afraid."

"Hm", she contemplated it for a few seconds, then suggested. "I think it's the kind of door that will not open with a hair-pin or a credit-card. Maybe it's the kind of door that will only open with a key. So go. Find the key."

His fingertips brushed against her chin and when she felt him lean in, she closed her eyes, heart beating fast as his lips touched hers, and she wondered how, no matter how many times they'd done this tonight, it still felt so incredible and new. Heat and feeling and peace and excitement first curled up into a tight ball and then bust into a thousands sparkles of light inside her soul, making her hands shake, her heart beat hard and fast and her head spin, just in that very moment before their lips touched. Before either of them closed the gap between them, before lips parted and tongues met. Just in that one second before the kiss became a kiss. In the one second it was not yet a kiss, but a promise.

When he drew back after a while, he made her another one, pointing his head towards the water.

"You'll save me?", Lisbon asked.

"Yes, I will", Jane said.

She was still reluctant. He chuckled.

"Ah, come on Lisbon, where is your sense of adventure?"

She laughed, then rested her head against his shoulder once more and pressed a soft kiss into his neck.

"Don't you think I've indulged that enough already during the last 48 hours?"

He draped an arm around her shoulder again and grinned.

"You mean by signing on with me?" He frowned, then nodded. "Probably."

She laughed and stroked his cheek. He pressed his face into the palm of her hand.

"Let me just say: Teresa Lisbon,…"

He leaned over and pressed a kiss on top of her nose, then added.

"…you are very brave."

"No."

Her voice was suddenly serious now, the hand on his cheek stopped and stayed still, while she slid her other hand into his hair and her eyes sought his. When she caught his gaze, she said softly.

"You are the brave one, Patrick Jane."

Jane blinked. Rapidly. Turned his head away form her and looked out into the night and the ocean and the sparkles of happy silver moonlight. Far away, just above the horizon he thought there was a patch of lighter blue, a soft, small glow.

He smiled. Then said.

"First time for everything."

And let his uninjured foot slip off the jetty and into the ocean. A moment later he heard a happy sigh, then felt something brush against his calf. He smiled and drew Lisbon close. And they just sat there for a while, feet dangling in the water, watching the stars and the night.

* * *

**A/N:** Next and antepenultimate one sometime at the end of next week, if all goes to plan. Will hopefully have all ten fingers available for typing again by that time as well, which should speed things up a bit (doing this one-handed drives me nuts ;-) Thanks for still being here. It means a lot.


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